THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


' 


VERSES 


VERSES 


BY 


ANSON   D.  F.   RANDOLPH 


PART  I. 
HOPEFULLY   WAITING,  ETC. 

PART  II. 
MY    SHIPS,   ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 


Copyright,  r8Sj, 
BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


BnifatraitB 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 

F.   H.   F.   R. 


628167 


PART  I. 
HOPEFULLY   WAITING,  ETC. 


HOPEFULLY   WAITING. 


Blessed  are  they  that  are  Homesick,  for  they  shall  come 
at  last  to  the  Father's  House.  —  HEINRICH  STILLING. 


NOT  as  you  meant,  O  learned  man  and  good, 
Do  I  accept  thy  words  of  hope  and  rest ; 
God,  knowing  all,  knows  what  for  me  is 

best, 
And  gives  me  what  I  need,  not  what  He 

could, 

Nor  always  as  I  would  ! 
I  shall  go  to  the  Father's  House  and  see 

Him  and  the  Elder  Brother  face  to  face,  — 
What  day  or  hour  I  know  not.     Let  me  be 

Steadfast  in  work,  and  earnest  in  the  race, 
Not  as  a  homesick  child,  who  all  day  long 
Whines  at  its  play,  and  seldom  speaks  in 
song. 

If  for  a  time  some  loved  one  goes  away 
And  leaves  us  our  appointed  work  to  do, 
Can  we  to  him  or  to  ourselves  be  true, 


12 


In  mourning  his  departure  day  by  day, 

And  so  our  work  delay  ? 
Nay,  if  we  love  and  honor,  we  shall  make 
The    absence   brief   by  doing   well    our 

task,  — 
Not  for  ourselves,  but  for  the  dear  one's 

sake ; 

And  at  his  coming  only  of  him  ask 
Approval  of  the  work,  which  most  was  done, 
Not  for  ourselves,  but  our  beloved  one  ! 

Our  Father's  House,  I  know,  is  broad  and 

grand ; 

In  it  how  many,  many  mansions  are ! 
And  far  beyond  the  light  of  sun  or  star 
Four  little  ones  of  mine  through  that  fair 

land 

Are  walking  hand  in  hand  ! 
Think  you  I  love  not,  or  that  I  forget 

These  of  my  loins  ?   Still  this  world  is  fair, 
And  I  am  singing  while  my  eyes  are  wet 

With  weeping  in  this  balmy  summer  air ; 
I  am  not  homesick,  and  the  children  here 
Have  need  of  me,  and  so  my  way  is  clear  ! 

I  would  be  joyful  as  my  days  go  by, 
Counting  God's  mercies  to  me.     He  who 

bore 
Life's  heaviest  Cross  is  mine  for  evermore  ; 


13 

And  I,  who  wait  His  coming,  shall  not  I 

On  His  sure  word  rely  ? 
So  if  sometimes  the  way  be  rough,  and  sleep 

Be  heavy  for  the  grief  He  sends  to  me, 
Or  at  my  waking  I  would  only  weep,  — 
Let  me  be  mindful  that  these  things  must 

be, 

To  work  His  blessed  will  until  He  come 
And  take  my  hand  and  lead  me  safely  home. 


BRIDGES. 


I. 


—  A  BRIDGE  within  my  heart, 
Known  as  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 

That  stretches  from  life's  sunny  part 
To  where  its  darkness  lies. 

And  when  upon  this  bridge  I  stand 

To  watch  the  tides  below, 
How  spread  the  shadows  on  the  land, 

How  dark  the  waters  grow  ! 

Then,  as  they  wind  their  way  along 

To  sorrow's  bitter  sea, 
How  mournful  is  the  spirit-song 

That  upward  floats  to  me  ; 

A  song  that  breathes  of  blessings  dead, 

Of  joys  no  longer  known, 
And  pleasures  gone,  —  their  distant  tread 

Now  to  an  echo  grown. 


And  hearing  thus,  beleaguering  fears 
Soon  shut  the  present  out ; 

The  good  but  in  the  past  appears, 
The  future  full  of  doubt. 

Oh,  often  then  will  deeper  grow 
The  night  that  round  me  lies  : 

I  would  that  life  had  run  its  flow, 
Or  never  found  its  rise  ! 


II. 

—  A  BRIDGE  within  my  heart, 
Known  as  the  Bridge  of  Faith ; 

It  spans  by  a  mysterious  art 
The  streams  of  life  and  death. 


And  when  upon  this  bridge  I  stand 
To  watch  the  tides  below, 

How  glorious  looks  the  sunny  land, 
How  clear  the  waters  flow  ! 

Then,  as  they  wind  their  way  along 

And  to  a  distant  sea, 
I  listen  to  the  angel-song 

That  backward  floats  to  me  ; 


i6 

A  song  of  blessings  never  sere, 
Of  love  beyond  compare,  — 

Of  life  so  vexed  and  troublous  here, 
So  calm  and  perfect  there. 

And  hearing  thus,  a  peace  divine 
Soon  shuts  each  sorrow  out, 

And  all  is  hopeful  and  benign 
Where  all  was  fear  and  doubt. 

Oh,  ever  then  will  brighter  grow 
The  light  that  round  me  lies  : 

I  see  from  life's  beclouded  flow 
A  crystal  stream  arise  ! 


RICH,   THOUGH    POOR. 

No  rood  of  land  in  all  the  earth, 

No  ships  upon  the  sea, 
Nor  treasures  rare  of  gold  or  gems, 

Do  any  keep  for  me  : 
As  yesterday  I  wrought  for  bread, 

So  must  I  toil  to-day ; 
Yet  some  are  not  so  rich  as  I, 

Nor  I  so  poor  as  they. 

On  yonder  tree  the  sunlight  falls, 

The  robin  's  on  the  bough  ; 
Still  I  can  hear  a  merrier  note 

Than  he  is  warbling  now : 
He  's  but  an  Arab  of  the  sky, 

And  never  lingers  long ; 
But  this  o'erruns  the  livelong  year 

With  music  and  with  song. 

Come,  gather  round  me,  merry  ones, 

And  here  as  I  sit  down, 
With  shouts  of  laughter  on  me  place 

A  more  than  regal  crown. 


i8 


Say,  childless  King,  would  I  accept 
Your  armies  and  domain, 

Or  e'en  your  crown,  and  never  feel 
These  little  hands  again  ? 


There 's  more  of  honor  in  their  touch, 

And  blessing  unto  me, 
Than  kingdom  unto  kingdom  joined, 

Or  navies  on  the  sea  ; 
So  greater  gifts  by  them  are  brought 

Than  Sheba's  Queen  did  bring 
To  him  who  at  Jerusalem 

Was  born  to  be  a  king. 

Look  at  my  crown  and  then  at  yours, 

Look  in  my  heart  and  thine  ; 
How  do  our  jewels  now  compare,  — 

The  earthly  and  divine  ? 
Hold  up  your  diamonds  to  the  light, 

Emerald  and  amethyst ; 
They  're  nothing  to  these  love-lit  eyes, 

Those  lips  so  often  kissed  ! 

"  O  noblest  Roman  of  them  all ! " 
That  mother  good  and  wise, 

Who  pointed  to  her  little  ones, 
The  jewels  of  her  eyes  : 


Four  sparkle  in  my  own  to-day, 
Two  deck  a  sinless  brow ; 

How  grow  my  riches  at  the  thought 
Of  those  in  glory  now  ! 

And  still  no  rood  of  all  the  earth, 

No  ships  upon  the  sea, 
Nor  treasures  rare  of  gold  or  gems, 

Are  safely  kept  for  me ; 
Yet  I  am  rich  —  myself  a  king  ! 

And  here  is  my  domain, 
Which  only  God  shall  take  away 

To  give  me  back  again  ! 


20 


TO  . 

NAY,  not  so,  dearest !     Look  into  my  eyes, 
Giving  the  search  its  clearest,  amplest  range ; 
Look  in  my  heart,  and  see  if  there  arise 
In  all  its  palpitations,  new  or  strange, 
One  pulse  of  doubt,   or  smallest   sign   of 

change ! 
We  have  come  hence   the    common    road 

along, 

And  ours  the  common  lot ;  for  we  have  seen 
Some  lights  go  out,  and  darkness  fill  the 

way, 

And  even  then  our  hearts,  so  full  of  song, 
Sang  to  each  other,  as  we  passed  between 
The  storm  and  cloud-drifts  of  the  waiting 

day. 
Think  you  such  love  could  its  dear  object 

wrong  ? 

I  take  thy  answer  as  I  give  thee  mine ; 
Yet  all  my  gifts,  how  mean  compared  with 

thine ! 


21 


EARTH   TO    EARTH. 

HERE  are  flowers,  dead  and  gone ; 
All  their  sweetness  is  withdrawn  : 
Look  upon  these  faded  leaves, 
Whereunto  no  beauty  cleaves  ; 
Look  upon  these  withered  stems, 
They  have  lost  their  gold  and  gems  : 
Back  to  thee,  O  Earth,  I  give 
What  for  me  no  more  doth  live. 

Other  flowers  of  mine  thou  hast, 
Upon  which  a  death  hath  passed ; 
Sweeter  flowers  than  these  were  they, 
But  their  life  has  sped  away, 
And  for  them  a  bed  was  made 
By  the  sexton's  busy  spade  : 
Back  to  thee,  O  Earth,  I  gave 
What  I  could  not  spare  or  save  ! 

Still  rich  flowers  thou  hast  of  mine, 
And  not  long  shall  they  be  thine  j 
Sweetest  sweets  are  soonest  gone, 
What  is  best  is  first  withdrawn  ; 


22 

In  the  sunlight,  in  the  shade, 
Some  will  sicken,  some  shall  fade  j 
One  by  one  I  shall  receive, 
Caring  not  how  much  you  grieve, 

This,  O  Earth  !  thy  voice  to  me 
Softly  saith  and  mournfully, 
While  my  heart  is  sore  with  pain, 
Sitting  with  the  dead  again,  — 
While  a  mist  is  in  my  eyes, 
And  the  night  about  me  lies ; 
Now  thy  voice  of  solemn  tone 
Speaketh  of  thy  realm  alone. 

Yet  a  better  Voice  I  hear, 
Falling  from  another  sphere. 
Earth,  thou  shalt  not  always  keep 
These  of  mine  that  with  thee  sleep ; 
What  I  give  thee  back  to-day, 
Keep,  and  welcome,  keep  for  aye  ; 
But  the  others  are  not  thine,  — 
They  are  God's,  and  will  be  mine 
When  upon  thy  pulseless  breast 
I  shall  lay  me  down  to  rest. 


23 


LITTLE   BESSIE, 

AND  THE  WAY  IN  WHICH  SHE  FELL  ASLEEP. 

"  HUG  me  closer,  closer,  Mother, 

Put  your  arms  around  me  tight ; 
I  am  cold  and  tired,  Mother, 

And  I  feel  so  strange  to-night ! 
Something  hurts  me  here,  dear  Mother, 

Like  a  stone  upon  my  breast : 
Oh,  I  wonder,  wonder,  Mother, 

Why  it  is  I  cannot  rest. 

"  All  the  day,  while  you  were  working, 

As  I  lay  upon  my  bed, 
I  was  trying  to  be  patient, 

And  to  think  of  what  you  said,  — 
How  the  kind  and  blessed  Jesus 

Loves  His  lambs  to  watch  and  keep, 
And  I  wished  He'd  come  and  take  me 

In  His  arms,  that  I  might  sleep. 

"  Just  before  the  lamp  was  lighted, 
Just  before  the  children  came, 

While  the  room  was  very  quiet, 
I  heard  some  one  call  my  name. 


24 

All  at  once  the  window  opened : 
In  a  field  were  lambs  and  sheep ; 

Some  from  out  a  brook  were  drinking, 
Some  were  lying  fast  asleep. 

"  But  I  could  not  see  the  Saviour, 

Though  I  strained  my  eyes  to  see  ; 
And  I  wondered,  if  He  saw  me 

Would  He  speak  to  such  as  me ; 
In  a  moment  I  was  looking 

On  a  world  so  bright  and  fair,  — 
It  was  full  of  little  children, 

And  they  seemed  so  happy  there. 


"  They  were  singing,  oh,  how  sweetly ! 

Sweeter  songs  I  never  heard ; 
They  were  singing  sweeter,  Mother, 

Than  our  little  yellow  bird ; 
And  while  I  my  breath  was  holding, 

One,  so  bright,  upon  me  smiled, 
And  I  knew  it  must  be  Jesus, 

When  He  said,  '  Come  here,  my  child. 

"  '  Come  up  here,  my  little  Bessie, 
Come  up  here  and  live  with  Me, 

Where  the  children  never  suffer, 
But  are  happier  than  you  see.' 


25 

Then  I  thought  of  all  you  'd  told  me 
Of  that  bright  and  happy  land  ; 

I  was  going  when  you  called  me, 
When  you  came  and  kissed  my  hand. 

"  And  at  first  I  felt  so  sorry 

You  had  called  me  ;  I  would  go ; 
Oh,  to  sleep  and  never  suffer;  — 

Mother,  don't  be  crying  so  ! 
Hug  me  closer,  closer,  Mother, 

Put  your  arms  around  me  tight ; 
Oh,  how  much  I  love  you,  Mother ; 

And  I  feel  so  strange  to-night !  " 

And  the  mother  pressed  her  closer 

To  the  overburdened  breast ; 
On  the  heart  so  near  to  breaking 

Lay  the  heart  so  near  its  rest : 
At  the  solemn  hour  of  midnight, 

In  the  darkness  calm  and  deep, 
Lying  on  her  mother's  bosom, 

Little  Bessie  fell  asleep  ! 


26 


THE   CANARY-BIRD. 

BLITHELY  thy  morning  song  breaks  on  my 

ear 

Here  in  the  city's  dust,  O  gentle  bird ; 
And  now  the  dank,  o'ercrowded  atmosphere, 
The   ceaseless   noise  that    everywhere    is 

heard, 

Is  lightened  by  thy  music.    While  it  springs 
A  wish  for  woods  and   fields  where  flowers 

be, 

It  drops  into  my  heart  from  viewless  wings 
Something  far  better  than  their  fragrancy. 
Thou  art  a  patient,  life-long  prisoner, 
Shut  from  the  world,  and  in  thy  solitude 
Sighing  for  freedom,  yet  the  almoner 
To  me  of  song  with  cheerfulness  imbued ; 
I  listen,  and  my  restless  heart  grows  calm, 
And  I  with  thee  lift  up  my  morning  psalm. 


FAR   OFF,   YET   NEAR. 

0  BLESSED  Lord ! 

Once  more,  as  at  the  opening  of  the  day, 

1  read  Thy  word ; 

And  now,  in  all  I  read,  I  hear  Thee  say, 
"  To  those  who  love  I  will  be  ever  near ;  " 
And  yet  e'en  while  I  hear, 

To  me,  O  Lord,  Thou  seemest  far  away. 

Thou  Sovereign  One, 
Greater  than  mightiest  kings,  can  it  be  fear 

Or  blinding  sun 

Made  by  Thy  glory,  so  if  Thou  art  here, 
I  cannot  see  Thee  ?  Yet  this  word  declares 
That  whoso  loves,  and  bears 
Thy  Holy  Name,  shall  have  Thee  ever  near ! 

I  bear  Thy  name ; 

That  love,  dear  Lord,  have  I  not  long  con 
fessed? 

Thy  love  's  the  same 

As  when,  like  John,  I    leaned   upon    Thy 
breast, 


28 

And  knew  I  loved ;  oh,  which  of  us  has 

changed  ? 
Am  I  from  Thee  estranged  ? 

0  Lord,  Thou  changest  not :  I  know  the  rest ! 

My  doubting  heart 
Trembles  with  its  own  weakness,  and  afraid 

I  dwell  apart 
From   Thee,  on  whom   alone   my  hope  is 

stayed : 

I  would,  and  yet  I  do  not  know  Thy  will 
And  perfect  love  ;  am  still 
Trusting  myself,  to  be  by  self  betrayed. 

O  blessed  Lord  ! 

Far  off,  yet  near,  on  me  new  grace  bestow, 
As  on  Thy  word 

1  go  to  meet  Thee :  even  now,  I  know 
Thou   nearer  art  than   when    my   quest 

began ; 

One  cry,  and  Thy  feet  ran 
To  meet  me ;  Lord,  I  will  not  let  Thee  go  ! 


29 


BY   FAITH    AND    PATIENCE. 

KEEP  on  sowing : 
God  will  cause  the  seeds  to  grow 

Faster  than  your  knowing ; 
Nothing  e'er  is  sown  in  vain 

If,  His  voice  obeying, 
You  look  upward  for  the  rain, 

And  falter  not  in  praying. 

Keep  on  praying : 
In  the  brightest,  darkest  day, 

Still  His  voice  obeying  ; 
Never  from  the  gates  of  prayer 

Turn  with  doubting  sorrow, 
For  the  One  who  standeth  there 

May  answer  you  to-morrow  ! 


TO   F . 

No  poet  e'er  hath  sung  a  song  to  her, 
No  painter  from  her  radiant  features  stole 
Glimpses  of  beauty>  such  as  fill  the  soul 
And  captive  hold  the  dreamy  worshipper. 
The  gay  saloon  hath  never  been  astir 
At  her  incoming  presence.     She  doth  pass 
Unnoticed  through  the  world,  save  by  the 

few, — 
Such  as  make  search  for  flowers  amid  the 

grass 

In  shaded  nooks  half  hidden  from  the  view. 
Known  only  as  a  patient  wife  and  true, 
She  rules  with  quiet  grace  her  small  domain ; 
She  homage  hath  the  queenliest  never  knew, 
And  is  content  each  duty  to  pursue, 
That   crowns  with  daily  blessings  all  her 

reign. 


SONG. 

THE  flowers  which  blessed  the  early  spring, 

And  crowned  the  summer  hours, 
Lie  dead  along  the  mountain  slope, 

Or  in  their  valley  bowers  ; 
So  blessings  on  the  autumn  sun, 

That  nursed  these  buds  for  me  : 
I  bring  them  straight  to  thee,  my  love ; 

I  give  them  all  to  thee ! 

The  morning  air  was  clear  and  warm, 

The  evening  's  damp  and  chill, 
And  some  who  oft  are  good  and  kind 

To-day  have  served  me  ill ; 
So  blessings  on  the  steadfast  heart 

That  knows  no  change  to  me  : 
I  find  the  sunlight  here,  my  love, 

I  left  at  morn  with  thee. 

What  if  these  buds  shall  ne'er  unfold, 

Soon  perish  like  the  flowers  ; 
Their  fragrance  evermore  shall  float 

About  this  life  of  ours  ; 
So  blessings  on  the  heart  that  turns 

All  things  to  joy  for  me  : 
The  world  may  have  its  way,  my  love, 

When  I  come  back  to  thee  ! 


SABBATH    MORNING. 

O  DAY  of  love  and  calm  delight, 
"  The  brightest  of  the  seven ;  " 

O  precious  foretaste  of  the  rest 
And  blessedness  of  heaven. 

The  birds  have  sung  since  morning  broke 
And  yonder  moon  grew  dim  ; 

They  never  had  so  sweet  a  voice, 
Or  sang  a  sweeter  hymn. 

The  river  that  at  yester  eve 

Dashed  wildly  on  the  shore, 
Moves  calmly  downward  to  the  sea, 

That  vexes  it  no  more. 

Where'er  I  turn  to  hill  or  plain, 

Above  me  or  around, 
A  quiet  fills  the  outer  world, 

Like  that  within  me  found. 

O  blessed  scene  of  peace  and  love, 

That  seems  to  heaven  akin ; 
Is  this  a  world  of  pain  and  death, 

Of  sorrow  and  of  sin  ? 


33 

Shall  singing  birds  forget  their  song, 
And  tempests  sweep  the  river  ? 

This  blissful  scene,  my  quiet  heart, 
Remain  unchanged  forever  ? 

The  coming  eve  may  bring  the  wind, 

The  early  morn  the  rain, 
And  backward  send  the  noisy  world, 

To  fill  my  heart  again  ! 

Come  night  of  wind,  or  morn  of  rain, 

Or  changes  sad  to  see  ; 
If,  Lord,  Thou  art  my  refuge  still, 

Why  should  they  trouble  me  ? 


34 


HAPPIEST   DAYS. 

THEY  tell  us,  Love,  that  you  and  I 

Our  happiest  days  are  seeing, 
While  yet  is  shut  from  cither's  eye 

The  changes  of  our  being. 
Ah  !  life  they  say 's  a  weary  way, 

With  less  of  joy  than  sorrow,  — 
That  where  the  sunlight  falls  to-day, 

There  '11  be  a  shade  to-morrow. 

If  ours  be  love  that  will  not  bear 

The  test  of  change  and  sorrow, 
And  only  deeper  channels  wear 

In  passing  to  each  morrow, 
Then  better  were  it  that  to-day 

We  fervently  were  praying 
That  all  we  have  might  pass  away 

While  we  the  words  were  saying. 

The  heart  has  depths  of  bitterness, 
As  well  as  depths  of  pleasure, 

And  those  who  love,  love  not  unless 
They  both  of  these  can  measure  ; 


35 

There  is  a  time  —  't  will  surely  come  — 
When  each  must  this  discover, 

And  woe  if  either  then  be  dumb 
To  that  which  moved  the  lover. 

There  are  some  spots  where  each  will  fall, 

Where  each  will  need  sustaining ; 
And  suffering  is  the  lot  of  all, 

And  is  of  God's  ordaining. 
Then  wherefore  do  our  hearts  unite 

In  bonds  that  none  can  sever, 
If  not  to  bless  each  changing  light, 

And  strengthen  each  endeavor  ? 

So  while  these  happy  days  we  bless, 

Let  us  no  doubt  be  sowing ; 
God's  mercy  never  will  be  less, 

Though  He  should  change  the  showing. 
Such  be  our  faith,  as  on  we  tread, 

Each  trusting  and  obeying, 
As  two  who  by  His  hand  are  led, 

And  hear  what  He  is  saying. 


THE   NEW   GIFT. 

Two  years  ago  our  gracious  God 

To  us  a  child  did  give,  — 
A  darling  one  now  gone  from  us, 

With  Christ  the  Lord  to  live. 

That  gift  —  it  opened  in  our  hearts 

A  spring  unknown  before  ; 
And  death  —  it  sealed  the  fountain  up, 

To  open  here  no  more. 

Now  when  our  God,  whose  name  be  praised, 

Another  child  has  given, 
Whose  sunny  face  we  often  think 

Is  like  a  face  in  heaven, 

We  say  that  she  can  never  fill 

The  place  so  filled  before  ; 
While  wondering  that  our  loss  should  seem 

To  make  us  love  her  more  ! 


37 


LOSS  AND   GAIN. 

How  sadly  beats  the  heavy  autumn  rain ; 
How  mournful  drives  the  wind  among  the 

trees ; 

Along  the  shore  the  weary  sailor  sees 
The  waves  roll  in  that  send  him  out  again ; 
The  birds  are   restless   in    the    scattered 

leaves ; 

The  clouds  move  wildly  on  in  massy  fold, 
And  all  the  outer  world,  or  earth  or  air, 
But  yesterday  so  warm,  so  fair, 
Is  changed,  and  in  a  night,  to  drear  and  cold. 

Now  goes  the  golden  autumn  far  away  ; 
Now  nearer  comes  the  winter  to  my  door  ; 
And  thus  doth  Nature,  working  evermore, 
Create  new  life  from  changes  and  decay. 
O  Christ !  who  in  the  hall  of  Pilate  bore 
For  me  the  scourge  and  mocking,  for  Thy 

sake 

Fill  up  the  daily  loss  in  life  of  mine 
With  Thy  life.  So  shall  love  divine 
Out  of  the  changing  the  unchanging  make. 


GOOD-NIGHT. 

GOOD-NIGHT  !  a  sweet  voice  laughing  said ; 

And  by  the  hope  within  me  born, 
I  knew  we  only  said  Good-night 

To  meet  again  at  morn. 

Good-night !  one  time  it  softly  said  ; 

And  by  the  heavy  heart  I  bore, 
I  knew  full  well  we  said  Good-night,  — 

Good-night,  for  evermore ! 

Ah,  sweet  it  was  to  say  Good-night 
When  morning  could  our  joys  restore ; 

What  grief  to  part  beneath  the  stars, 
And  meet  on  earth  no  more ! 


39 


THE   MASTER'S    INVITATION. 

DEAR  Lord,  Thy  table  is  outspread ; 

What  other  could  such  feast  afford  ? 
And  Thou  art  waiting  at  the  head, 
And  I  am  all  unworthy,  Lord  ; 
Yet  do  I  hear  Thee  say, 

(Was  ever  love  so  free  ?) 
Come  hither,  son,  to-day, 
And  sit  and  sup  with  Me. 

O  Master !  I  am  full  of  doubt, 

My  heart  with  sin,  with  fear  defiled; 
Come  Thou,  and  cast  the  tempter  out, 
And  make  me  as  a  little  child ; 
Methinks  I  hear  Thee  say, 

Come  thou,  at  once,  and  see 
What  love  can  take  away, 
And  what  confer  on  thee. 

My  Lord  !  to  Thee  I  fain  would  go, 
Yet  tarry  now,  I  know  not  why ; 

Speak,  if  to  tell  what  well  I  know, 
That  none  are  half  so  vile  as  I. 


4o 

What  do  I  hear  Thee  say  ? 

Look,  trembling  one,  and  see 
These  tokens,  which  to-day 

Tell  what  I  did  for  thee. 

Nay,  Lord  !  I  could  not  here  forget 

What  Thou  didst  for  my  ransom  give  ; 
The  garden  prayer,  the  bloody  sweat, 
All  this  and  more,  that  I  might  live. 
I  hear  Thee  sadly  say, 

ff  this  remembered  be, 
Why  linger  thus  to-day  ? 

Why  doubt  and  question  Me  ? 

Oh,  love  to  angels  all  unknown ! 
I  turn  from  sin  and  self  aside  ; 
Thou  hast  the  idol  self  o'erthrown, 
I  only  see  the  Crucified ; 
I  only  hear  Thee  say, 

A  feast  is  spread  for  thee 
On  this  and  every  day, 
Ifthou  but  follow  Me! 


MARGARET   BROWN. 


HARD  by  the  brook,  beyond  the  town, 

Where  stands  the  leafless  locust-tree, 
There  is  a  cottage,  old  and  brown, 
Which  rearward  looks  upon  the  town, 
But  faces  to  the  sea. 


The  walks  with  grass  are  overgrown, 
And  weeds  fill  up  the  garden-bed  ; 
The  moss  clings  to  the  stepping-stone, 
And  from  the  tree  the  birds  have  flown 
Now  that  the  tree  is  dead. 


'Mid  all  these  dreary  signs  without, 
And  scarce  a  sound  of  life  within, 
The  passer  stops  and  looks  about, 
As  half  in  fear  and  half  in  doubt 
Of  what  may  here  have  been. 


42 

Ah,  't  is  a  simple  tale  and  rare 

Of  life  the  stranger  cannot  know,  — 

There  is  a  presence  in  the  air, 

As  if  of  angels  watching  there, 
Or  passing  to  and  fro. 

Here     Margaret     lives,     "  Old     Margaret 
Brown,"  — 

Thus  doth  the  clerk  her  name  record 
With  what  is  given  by  the  town ; 
Nor  notes  what  daily  is  sent  down 

In  blessings  from  the  Lord. 

Here  she  was  born  and  here  was  wed, 
Here  grew  her  children  by  her  side 
Till  one  by  one  from  her  they  fled,  — 
And  there  they  laid  her  husband  dead, 
Brought  shoreward  by  the  tide. 

Thus  blessings  came,  thus  from  her  went,  — 
God's  love  in  sun  and  shadow  shown  — 

You  say  a  heart  so  torn  and  rent, 

With  all  its  loving  forces  spent, 
Might  harden  into  stone  ? 

Ah,  years  did  follow,  all  unblessed,  — 

How  bleak  was  all  the  world,  how  dark  ! 
Her  wandering  soul  in  search  of  rest 
Only  the  gloom  and  waste  possessed, 
Nor  found  the  only  ark  ! 


43 

Oh,  faithless  soul  that  would  not  know 

Who  ever  watched  or  went  before, 
And  sought  in  all  those  waves  of  woe, 
In  all  their  flood  and  overflow, 
To  give  thee  peace  once  more. 


II. 

Oh,  happy  day,  but  all  too  brief, 

And  night  more  precious  still  than  day, 
When  she  obtained  the  dear  relief, 
That  left  her  still  the  sense  of  grief, 
But  stole  the  sting  away  ! 

She  sat  in  silence  with  her  dead 
When  Jesus  came  and  called  her  name ; 

One  answering  word,  and  fear  and  dread 

Went  out,  and  unto  her,  instead, 
A  holy  quiet  came. 

Oh,  change  that  did  her  soul  astound : 
The  Lord  had  come  and  talked  with  her, 

And  all  her  grief  with  comfort  crowned  ; 

She 'had  once  more  the  Master  found, 
Beside  the  sepulchre. 

Long  years  have  passed  —  poor,  blind,  and 

old, 
She  waits  until  God's  will  is  done  ; 


44 

And  yet  her  closed  eyes  behold 
A  world  of  glories  manifold, 
And  Jesus  as  the  sun. 

What  if  the  sea  roar  up  the  beach, 

The  leafless  tree  the  sound  prolong, 
Her  soul  its  resting-place  can  reach, 
Still  tune  the  common  words  of  speech 
Into  a  thankful  song. 

What  if  the  stone  no  more  be  pressed 

By  steps  that  woke  a  welcome  sound ; 
Her  loving  heart  is  full  of  rest,  — 
With  her  abides  a  heavenly  guest,  — 
The  Lord  whom  she  has  found. 

And  if  the  birds  have  spread  the  wing, 
The  walk  with  grass  be  overgrown ; 
She  seems  to  hear  the  downward  ring 
Of  songs,  such  as  the  angels  sing, 
Where  sorrow  is  unknown  ! 

O  world,  with  all  thy  pomp  and  pride, 
So  poor,  so  full  of  doubt  and  fear ; 

Lo,  Christ,  with  gifts  to  thee  denied, 

Has  every  longing  satisfied, 
And  built  His  temple  here  ! 


45 


LESS   AND   MORE. 

Two  prayers,  dear  Lord,  in  one  — 
Give  me  both  less  and  more : 
Less  of  the  impatient  world,  and  more   of 

Thee; 

Less  of  myself,  and  all  that  heretofore 
Made  me  to  slip  where  ready  feet  do  run, 
And  held  me  back  from  where  I  fain  would 

be,- 
Kept  me,  my  Lord,  from  Thee  ! 

All  things  which  most  I  need 
Are  Thine  :  Thou  wilt  bestow 
Both  strength  and  shield,  and  be  my  willing 

guest ; 

Yet  my  weak  heart  takes  up  a  broken  reed, 
Thy  rod  and  staff  doth  readily  forego, 
And    I,  who  might  be  rich,  am  poor,  dis 
tressed, 
And  seek  but  have  not  rest. 


46 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? 
So  have  I  cried  of  late, 
As  though  I  knew  not  what  I  well  do  know : 
Come  Thou,  great  master-builder,  and  create 
Anew    that    which    is    Thine ;    undo    my 

wrong,  — 
Breathe  on  this  waste,  and  life  and  health 

bestow : 
Come,  Lord,  let  it  be  so  ! 

Let  it  be  so,  and  then  — 
What  then  ?     My  soul  shall  wait, 
And  ever  pray — all  prayers,  dear  Lord,  in 

one  — 

Thy  will  o'er  mine  in  all  this  mortal  state 
Hold    regal    sway.      To    Thy    commands, 

Amen ! 
Break   from    my  waiting   lips    till  work   is 

done, 
And  crown  and  glory  won  ! 


47 


FAIRY   TALES.1 

THE  picture  of  a  little  child 

Which  comes  to  us  from  o'er  the  sea : 
Why  hath  it  thus  my  heart  beguiled,  — 

Why  such  a  charm  for  me  ? 

Before  it  oft  I  stop  and  gaze, 
And  pass  the  rarer  pictures  by, 

Until  the  shopman,  in  amaze, 
Would  seem  to  ask  me  why. 

He  does  not  know,  nor  need  I  tell, 
Where,  in  that  face,  a  look  I  see 

Of  one  who  for  a  while  did  dwell 
On  earth  to  comfort  me. 

The  picture  of  a  little  child,  — 

A  book,  a  child,  and  nothing  more ; 

And  she  to  quiet  reconciled 
By  Fairy  Tales  of  yore. 

1  A  picture,  by  a  foreign  artist,  of  a  little  child  seated  and 
reading  a  large  book. 


48 

What  joy,  what  wonder  on  her  face, 
And  such  as  children  only  know  ; 

And  Art  has  caught  each  changeful  grace, 
And  will  not  let  it  go. 

O  childish  face  !  thou  art  not  mute, 

Thou  giv'st  my  thought  mysterious  range  ; 

Here  in  thy  presence  I  compute 
A  story  sweet  and  strange,  — 

The  story  of  a  little  life, 

So  brief,  and  yet  withal  so  sweet ; 
'T  would  seem  a  dream,  but  for  the  strife 

That  made  the  life  complete. 

Thus  many  a  time  in  days  gone  by, 
A  child  who  dwells  with  us  no  more, 

(How  deep  the  shadows  now  which  lie 
Where  sunlight  was  before  ! ) 

Would  sit,  a  book  within  her  hand, 

Her  eye  intent  upon  the  page, 
As  though  she  well  did  understand 

What  did  her  sight  engage. 

O  blessed  child  !  I  see  thee  still  ! 

My  heart  o'erleaps  the  solemn  years, 
And  eyes  thou  once  with  light  didst  fill, 

Thou  fillest  now  with  tears. 


49 

And  yet  through  sorrow's  cloud  and  mist 

My  eager  sight  is  swift  to  run 
Through  sapphire  hues,  and  amethyst, 

And  glory  of  the  sun  ; 

Until  thy  face,  with  wondrous  change, 

I,  as  in  vision,  clearly  see ; 
O  child  of  mine,  O  marvel  strange ! 

What  might  I  learn  of  thee  ! 

Two  score  of  years,  what  have  they  brought 
Of  knowledge  to  compare  with  thine  ? 

The  narrow  reach  of  human  thought, 
To  that  which  is  divine  ! 

The  mysteries  of  our  mortal  state, 
At  which  I  shrink  as  they  unfold ; 

Nor  fear  nor  wonder  can  create 
In  them  who  God  behold  ! 

Sweet  child,  not  mine  as  heretofore, 

Still  mine  in  glory  yet  to  be  ; 
Dear  Lord,  could  I  desire  more 

Concerning  her  of  Thee  ? 

O  throbbing  heart !  thy  longings  cease ; 

Again,  O  Lord,  Thy  strength  bestow, 
And  turn  this  sorrow  into  peace, 

Which  shall  more  perfect  grow. 
4 


5° 

This  picture  of  a  little  child, 
By  one  who  dwells  across  the  sea, 

Thus  hath  it  oft  my  heart  beguiled, 
And  been  a  joy  to  me  ! 


51 


THE   COLOR-SERGEANT. 

You  say  that  in  every  battle 

No  soldier  was  braver  than  he, 
As  aloft  in  the  roar  and  the  rattle 

He  carried  the  flag  of  the  free  ? 
I  knew,  ah  !  I  knew  he  'd  ne'er  falter, 

I  could  trust  him,  the  dutiful  boy ; 
My  Robert  was  wilful,  —  but  Walter, 

Dear  Walter,  was  ever  a  joy. 

And  if  he  was  true  to  his  mother, 

Do  you  think  he  his  trust  would  betray 
And  give  up  his  place  to  another, 

Or  turn  from  the  danger  away  ? 
He  knew  while  afar  he  was  straying, 

He  felt  in  the  thick  of  the  fight, 
That  at  home  his  lone  mother  was  praying 

For  him  and  the  cause  of  the  right ! 

Tell  me,  comrade,  who  saw  him  when  dying, 
What  he  said,  what  he  did,  if  you  can  ; 

On  the  field  in  his  agony  lying, 
Did  he  suffer  and  die  like  a  man  ? 


52 

Do  you  think  he  once  wished  he  had  never 
Borne  arms  for  the  right  and  the  true  ? 

"  Nay ;  he  shouted,  '  Our  country  forever  ! ' 
When  he  died  he  was  praying  for  you  !  " 

0  my  darling  !  my  youngest  and  fairest, 
Whom  I  gathered  so  close  to  my  breast ; 

1  called  thee  my  dearest  and  rarest, 
And  thou  wert  my  purest  and  best ! 

I  tell  you,  O  friend  !  as  a  mother, 
Whose  full  heart  is  breaking  to-day, 

The  infinite  Father  —  none  other  — 
Can  know  what  He  's  taken  away. 

I  thank  you  once  more  for  your  kindness, 

For  this  lock  of  his  bright  auburn  hair ; 
Perhaps  't  is  the  one  I  in  blindness 

Last  touched,  as  we  parted  just  there  ! 
When  he  asked,  through  his  tears,  should 
he  linger 

From  duty,  I  answered  him  nay  ; 
And  he  smiled,  as  he  placed  on  my  finger 

This  ring  I  am  wearing  to-day. 

I  watched  him  leap  into  the  meadow, 
Where  a  child  he  with  others  had  played  ; 

I  saw  him  pass  slowly  the  shadow 
Of  the  trees  where  his  father  was  laid ; 


S3 

And  there,  where  the  road  meets  two  others, 
Without  turning  he  went  on  his  way  ; 

Once    his    face    toward    the   foe,    not   his 

mother's 
Should  unman  him,  or  cause  him  delay. 

It  may  be  that  some  day  your  duty 

Will  carry  you  that  way  again, 
When  the  field  shall  be  riper  in  beauty, 

Enriched  by  the  blood  of  the  slain  : 
Would  you  see  if  the  grasses  are  growing 

On  the  grave  of  my  boy  ?     Will  you  see 
If  a  flower,  e'en  the  smallest,  is  blowing, 

And  pluck  it,  and  send  it  to  me  ? 

Think  not,  in  my  grief,  I  'm  complaining ; 

I  gave  him,  God  took  him,  —  't  is  right ; 
And  the  cry  of  his  mother  remaining 

Shall  strengthen  his  comrades  in  fight. 
Not  for  vengeance,  to-day,  in  my  weeping, 

Goes  my  prayer  to  the  Infinite  throne  ; 
God  pity  the  foe  when  he  's  reaping 

The  harvest  of  what  he  has  sown ! 

Tell  his  comrades  these  words  of  his  mother  : 

All  over  the  wide  land  to-day 
The  Rachels,  who  weep  with  each  other, 

Together  in  agony  pray. 


54 

They  know,  in  their  great  tribulation, 
By  the  blood  of  their  children  outpoured, 

We  shall  smite  down  the  foes  of  the  nation 
In  the  terrible  day  of  the  Lord. 


55 


"THE  MARRIED  STATE  IS  A 
STATE  OF  SORROW." 

DEAR  heart,  what  say  you,  is  the  proverb 

true, 

This  German  proverb  of  the  olden  time  ? 
Or  did  some  cynic  who  had  wed  a  shrew 
Attempt  the  act  to  rue, 

By  ringing  out  this  simple,  doleful  rhyme  : 
Live  by  thyself,  all  will  be  well; 

Who  ived  shall  weep  to-morrow, 
And  find  too  late  the  married  state 
As  state  of  pain  and  sorrow. 

It  is  not  true  !  —  how  ready  to  deny 

This   well-kept  wisdom   of  five  hundred 

years ; 
How   dare   you   now   to    make   such    curt 

reply,  — 
With  laughter  to  deny 

That  which  to  some  most  solemn  truth 
appears. 


56 

Nay,  nay,  you  trifle  !     'T  is  no  idle  jest ; 

This  is  a  proverb  —  pray  you  heed  it  so  ; 
And  proverbs,  they  by  some  men  are  con 
fessed 
Of  simple  truths  the  best ; 

Come  read  it  o'er  again,  and  clear  and 
slow. 

Still  doubting  and  denying,  and  with  speech 
That 's  less  conclusive  than  that  look  of 

thine : 

Art  thou  by  silence  seeking  to  impeach 
The  cynic  ;  by  its  reach 

Take  in  our  life,  and   say,  not  true  of 
mine! 

'T  is  I  that  trifle  ?    Tell  me  how  you  know  ! 
Ah,  well   you  prove   it  —  give   me   then 

your  hand : 

Do  you  remember  now  the  years  ago, 
And  when  I  held  it  so, 
While  God's  own  servant  forged  the  end 
less  band  ? 

And  now  your  face,  some  say,  is  not  so  fair 
As  on  that  morning  of  our  marriage  day; 

And  yester  eve,  the  children  in  my  hair 

Searched  out  the  silver  there, 
And  laughed  to  think  that  I  was  growing 
gray. 


57 

Wellnigh  a  score  of  years  have  gone  their 

round 
Since  we  passed  out  to  journey  side  by 

side; 
And  say,  dear  heart,  have  we  not  always 

found, 

Where  faith  and  love  abound, 
What  else  is  needed  will  not  be  denied  ? 

God's  benediction  was  upon  the  rite, 
And  God's  dear  mercies  followed  with  the 

deed; 

So  e'en  in  days  of  darkness,  when  the  night 
Was  over-long,  and  light 

Came  slowly,  we   said  not,  whate'er  our 

need, 
Live  by  thyself,  all  will  be  well  j 

Who  wed  shall  weep  to-morrow , 
And  find  too  late  the  married  state 
As  state  of  pain  and  sorrow. 


TO    F.   F.    R. 

TONIGHT,  where  gleam  the  stars  benign 

Above  the  broad  Catalpa-tree, 
O  friend,  I  pledge  thee  in  this  wine,  — 

The  wine  thou  gavest  me. 

More  generous,  sunlight  and  the  dew 
And  winds  that  feed  the  autumn  rain 

Ne'er  nursed  in  vineyards,  old  or  new, 
That  crowd  the  slopes  of  Spain. 

The  peasant  throng  with  shout  and  dance 
This  vintage  gathered  years  ago ; 

Nor  dreamed  what  guest  and  circumstance 
Should  quaff  or  mark  its  flow. 

It  may  have  been  at  feast,  where  song 
And  dance  disturbed  the  fragrant  air ; 

While  noisy  guests  sat  late  and  long, 
To  pledge  the  bridal  pair. 

Perhaps  where  met  the  proud  and  great, 
Their  studied  praises  to  bestow 

On  one  who  well  had  served  the  state 
In  its  convulsive  throe. 


59 

At  kingly  boards  it  may  have  passed, 

Where  nobles  sat  with  monarchs  crowned  ; 

When  fulsome  words  the  lie  surpassed 
In  which  the  toast  was  drowned. 

So  too  in  homes,  on  festive  days,  — 
Those  days  that  household  joys  restore, 

Perchance  has  graced  life's  common  phrase 
When  turned  to  love's  once  more. 

With  pledge  at  feast  of  bridal  pair, 
At  board  of  statesman,  home,  or  king, 

I  place  as  pledge  beyond  compare, 
That  which  I  give  and  bring. 

Not  such  as  flattering  lips  bestow,  — 
The  idle  word  betricked  with  art : 

He  honors  most,  as  true  men  know, 
Who  honors  with  the  heart ! 

And  shall  not  I,  O  friend,  to  thee 

For  unrecorded  deeds  of  thine 
Give  thanks,  as  now  I  hold  and  see 

Thy  gifts  to  me  and  mine  ? 

And  so,  where  gleam  the  stars  benign 

Above  the  broad  Catalpa-tree, 
I  pledge  again,  but  not  in  wine,  — 

He  who  is  friend  to  me  ! 


6o 


LITTLE   LUCY,   AND   THE   SONG 
SHE   SUNG. 

I. 

A  LITTLE  child,  six  summers  old,  — 

So  thoughtful  and  so  fair, 
There  seemed  about  her  pleasant  ways 

A  more  than  childish  air,  — 
Was  sitting  on  a  summer  eve 

Beneath  a  spreading  tree, 
Intent  upon  an  ancient  book 

That  lay  upon  her  knee. 

She  turned  each  page  with  careful  hand, 

And  strained  her  sight  to  see, 
Until  the  drowsy  shadows  slept 

Upon  the  grassy  lea ; 
Then  closed  the  book,  and  upward  looked, 

And  straight  began  to  sing 

A  simple  verse  of  hopeful  love,  — 

This  very  childish  thing  : 
"  While  here  below,  how  sweet  to  know 

His  wondrous  love  and  story  ; 
And  then,  through  grace,  to  see  His  face, 

And  live  with  Him  in  glory  ! " 


6i 


That  little  child,  one  dreary  night 

Of  winter  wind  and  storm, 
Was  tossing  on  a  weary  couch 

Her  weak  and  wasted  form  ; 
And  in  her  pain,  and  in  its  pause, 

But  clasped  her  hands  in  prayer  — 
(Strange  that  we  had  no  thoughts  of  heaven 

While  hers  were  only  there)  — 

Until  she  said  :  "  O  mother  dear, 

How  sad  you  seem  to  be  ! 
Have  you  forgotten  that  He  said 

'  Let  children  come  to  Me  '  ? 
Dear  mother,  bring  the  blessed  Book,  — 

Come,  mother,  let  us  sing." 
And  then  again,  with  faltering  tongue, 

She  sung  that  childish  thing  : 
"  While  here  below,  how  sweet  to  know 

His  wondrous  love  and  story; 
And  then,  through  grace,  to  see  His  face, 

And  live  with  Him  in  glory !  " 


Underneath  a  spreading  tree 

A  narrow  mound  is  seen, 
Which  first  was  covered  by  the  snow, 

Then  blossomed  into  green  ; 


62 

Here  first  I  heard  that  childish  voice 

That  sings  on  earth  no  more ; 
In  heaven  it  hath  a  richer  tone, 

And  sweeter  than  before : 
"  For  those  who  know  His  love  below  "  — 

So  runs  the  wondrous  story  — 
"  In  heaven,  through  grace,  shall  see    His 
face, 

And  dwell  with  Him  in  glory  ! " 


THE   ABSENT   LORD. 

MY  Lord  was  taken  from  me :  day  by  day 

My  heart  grew  heavier  with  the  sins  it  bore, 
While  many  dulcet  voices  came  to  say, 
Why  weepest  thou  ?    If  He  come  back  no 

more, 

Give  o'er  thy  sorrow,  needless  at  the  best. 
So  I  their  call  obeyed, 
And  knew  not,  yet  would  know  where  He 

was  laid, 
And  could  not  be  at  rest. 

I  was  a  wanderer  thence  from  place  to  place. 
I  questioned  some  who  sat  within  the  gate, 
And  saw  the  play  of  the  incredulous  face  ; 
On  others  scanned  the  look  of  scorn  and 

hate. 
My  heart  grew  hard,  —  I  say  not  how  or 

why,— 

While  I  my  search  delayed  : 
I  cared  not  where  my  Master  had  been 

laid, 
Or  would  His  name  deny. 


64 

Thus  in  the  day  I  could  my  loss  forget, 

As  He  was  crowded  from  me  by  the  press  ; 
At  night,  my  soul,  with  many  fears  beset, 
Would  oft  with  tears  its  shame  and  loss 

confess, 

And  sick,  alone,  afraid, 
Cry  out,  O  world,  tell  where  my  Lord  is 

laid, 
Or  let  me  love  thee  less. 

One  time  I  thought  on  Peter  in  the  hall, 

And  soon  of  Mary  waiting  at  the  grave ; 
Then   of  the    smiting   of    the   threatening 

Saul,  — 

And  was  not  Jesus  near  to  help  and  save  ? 
O  light  that  came,  and  why  the  long  delay  ? 
I  had  my  Lord  conveyed 
Afar,  forgetting  where  He  had  been  laid, 
And  gone  upon  my  way  — 

My  way,  and  He  had  risen  to  follow  me,  — 

Me  all  unworthy,  ne'er  by  Him  forgot ; 
O  wondrous  love,  that  could  so  patient  be  ! 

My  eyes  were  holden  that  I  knew  Him  not ! 
Peace  came  at  last,  as  to  the  twain  that  day 
Who  from  Jerusalem  strayed ; 
And  while  they  talked  of  where  He  had 

been  laid, 
He  met  them  by  the  way  ! 


HYMN  FOR  THE  DEDICATION  OF 
A  CHURCH. 

IN  every  place,  O  sovereign  Lord, 
On  ocean,  plain,  and  mountain  side, 

Thy  name  for  man  Thou  dost  record, 
Thy  promise  with  Him  to  abide. 

Where  mortal  eye  hath  never  seen, 
Where  foot  of  man  hath  never  trod, 

Thy  kingly  messengers  have  been, 
And  left  the  impress  of  their  God. 

Here,  Lord,  Thy  grander  work  begin, 
Where  Thy  great  love  recorded  stands  ; 

Come  now,  and  bless  and  enter  in 
This  temple  built  of  willing  hands. 

Thy  love  reveal,  Thy  truth  unfold, 
Make  this  Thy  holy  dwelling-place, 

Wherein  Thy  people  shall  behold 
The  constant  wonders  of  Thy  grace. 

We  plead  Thy  promise,  free  and  great ; 

Thine  is  the  power,  the  glory  Thine. 
Come,  Holy  Spirit,  while  we  wait, 

And  make  this  human  work  divine. 
5 


66 


SOJOURNING,  AS  AT  AN   INN. 

I  LOOK  abroad  upon  the  verdant  fields, 

The  song  of  birds  is  on  the  summer  air ; 
Within,  how   many  a   treasure    something 

yields 
To  bless  my  life  and  round  the  edge  of 

care ; 

And  yet  the  earth  and  air, 
All  that  seems  good  and  fair, 
That  still  is  mine  or  for  a  time  hath  been, 
Now  teach  me  I  am  but  a  pilgrim  here, 
Without  a  home,  and  dwelling  at  an  inn. 

Not  always  has  the  outlook  been  so  clear : 
There  have  been  days  when  stormy  gusts 

went  by,  — 
Nights  when  my  wearied  heart  was  full  of 

fear, 
And  God  seemed  farther  off  than  star  and 

sky; 

Yet  then,  when  grief  was  nigh, 
My  soul  could  sometimes  cry 


67 

Out  of  the  depths  of  sorrow  and  of  sin, 
That  at  the  worst  I  was  but  pilgrim  here, 
With  home  beyond,  while  dwelling  at  an 


Nay,  I  complain  not  of  this  life  of  mine, 

I  less  of  shade  have  had  than  of  the  sun ; 
The  gracious  Father,  with  a  hand  divine, 
Has  crowned  with  mercies  His  unworthy 

one : 

My  cup  has  overrun  ; 
And  I,  His  will  undone, 
Too  oft  have  turned  a  blessing  into  sin, 
As  I  forgot  I  was  but  pilgrim  here, 

Homeless  at  best,  and  dwelling  at  an  inn. 


Look  on  me,  Lord !     Have  I  not  need  to 

pray 
That  this  fair  world,  that  gives  so  much 

to  me, 

Serve  not  to  lead  my  steps  so  far  astray 
That  at  the  end  I  stand  afar  from  Thee  ? 
Dear  Lord,  let  this  not  be  ; 
Nay,  rather  let  me  see 
Beyond  this  life  my  happiest  days  begin ; 
And  singing  on  my  way,  a  pilgrim  here, 
Rejoice  that  I  am  dwelling  at  an  inn. 


68 

Dear  Son  of  God !  by  whom  the  world  was 

made, 
Yet  homeless  —  had  not  where  to  lay  Thy 

head, 

(Not  e'en  by  kindred  was  Thy  body  laid 
In  Joseph's  tomb,  Thou  Lord  of  quick  and 

dead ! ) 

By  Thy  example  led, 
Of  me  may  it  be  said, 
When  I  shall  rest  and  perfect  life  begin, 
He  lived  as  one  who  was  a  pilgrim  here, 
And  found  his  home  while  dwelling  at  an 


69 


OUR   BABY. 


I. 


OF  all  the  darling  children 

That  e'er  a  household  blessed, 
We  place  our  baby  for  compare 

With  the  fairest  and  the  best ; 
She  came  when  last  the  violets 

Dropped  from  the  hand  of  Spring ; 
When  on  the  trees  the  blossoms  hung  — 
Those  cups  of  odorous  incense  swung 

When  dainty  robins  sing. 

How  glowed  the  early  morning 

After  a  night  of  rain, 
When  she  possessed  our  waiting  hearts 

To  go  not  out  again ; 
"  Dear  Lord,"  we  said,  with  thankful  speech, 

"  Grant  we  may  love  Thee  more 
For  this  new  blessing  in  a  cup 

That  was  so  full  before  !  " 

September ',  1858. 


7o 


II. 

THIS  year,  before  the  violets 

Had  heralded  the  Spring, 
And  not  a  leaf  was  on  the  tree, 

Nor  robin  here  to  sing, 
An  angel  came  one  solemn  night, 

Heaven's  glory  to  bestow, 
And  take  our  darling  from  our  sight : 
What  could  we,  Lord,  at  morning  light, 

But  weep,  and  let  her  go  ! 

How  dark  the  day  that  followed 

That  dreary  night  of  pain  ; 
Those  eyes  now  closed,  and  nevermore 

To  open  here  again  ! 
"  Dear  Lord,"  we  said,  with  broken  speech, 

"  Grant  we  may  love  Thee  more 
For  this  new  jewel  in  the  crown 

Where  we  had  two  before  !  " 

September,  1860. 


THE   WILD    FLOWER. 

IT  grew  upon  a  sloping  bank, 
Beside  a  common  stone  ; 

There  in  the  starry  silence  drank 
The  dews  of  heaven  alone. 

Uncared  for,  and  by  some  unseen, 

It  lived  serenely  there, 
To  grace  one  little  spot  of  green, 

And  bless  the  common  air. 

The  idle  dreamer  passing  by 
No  gladness  from  it  caught ; 

It  could  not  fill  his  restless  eye, 
Or  waken  pleasant  thought. 

So  may  I  pass  my  humble  lot, 
Content  to  be  unknown, 

If  thus  from  me  some  hidden  spot 
A  touch  of  sweetness  own. 


72 


SONG. 

I  KNOW  where  by  life's  wayside 

There  is  a  crystal  spring, 
Where  sometimes  I  sit  down  and  sigh, 

But  oftener  sit  and  sing ; 
None  tarry  there  so  long  as  I, 

Or  there  so  frequent  be, 
For  it  for  none  does  outward  flow 

As  it  flows  out  to  me. 

In  the  dryest  days  of  summer 

The  current  sweeps  along, 
And  winter  brings  no  ice  to  freeze 

The  measure  of  its  song  ; 
So,  like  a  good  thought  of  the  soul, 

That  wanders  out  to  bless, 
It  every  day  but  deeper  grows, 

Instead  of  growing  less  ! 

Ask  you  where  by  life's  wayside, 

On  what  enchanted  ground, 
This  crystal  spring,  so  full,  so  rare, 

Is  ever  to  be  found  ? 
Look  down  into  your  heart,  my  love, 

As  I  into  your  eyes, 
And  while  I  trace  the  outward  flow, 

You  may  behold  its  rise. 


73 


THE   LOVING   MASTER. 

And  the  same  night  in  which  He  was  be 
trayed, 

(So  runs  the  record  of  that  feast  of  Thine,) 
While  the  Eleven  joyous,  yet  afraid, 

Scarce  knew  the  meaning  of  the  bread  and 

wine, 

And  on  the  Other  heavy  guilt  was  laid, 
Nor  fear  nor  knowledge  touched  Thy  love 

divine. 

What  if  Thy  coming  death  the  hour  op 
pressed, 

No  human  grief  should  on  the  service  wait, 
Or  guilt  of  one  then  sadden  or  abate 
The  grace  and  peace  that  served  the  loyal 

guest. 
Dear,  patient  Lord,  if  at  Thy  table  here 

One  sits  unworthy,  let  not  this  withhold 
Thy  love  from  those  who  love ;  to   these 

appear, 
O  Christ,  as  to  Thy  faithful  ones  of  old  ! 


74 


THE   HAPPY   PILGRIM. 


A  PILGRIM  with  his  lot  content, 

Nor  seeking  rest  below, 
Now  to  the  land  that  lies  beyond 

With  steadfast  heart  I  go. 
O  foolish  world,  I  ask  no  more 

Thy  willing  guest  to  be  ; 
Mine  is  the  rich,  the  heavenly  feast, 

And  Jesus  sups  with  me. 


II. 


Full  often  where  I  take  my  way 

Are  pastures  green  and  fair, 
And  living  waters,  cool  and  sweet, 

Which  all  the  pilgrims  share. 
Oh,  never  has  the  day  seemed  long, 

The  night  proved  drear  or  cold, 
So  that  I  heard  His  loving  voice, 

Or  rested  in  the  fold ! 


75 


in. 

You  wonder  at  the  songs  I  sing, 

That  so  my  face  should  shine ; 
Remember,  friends,  that  I  am  His, 

And  He  forever  mine  : 
So  I  a  pilgrim  through  the  world 

A  princely  portion  share, 
While  He  makes  every  burden  light, 

Or  doth  the  burden  bear  ! 


IV. 

Come  then,  and  as  a  pilgrim  gain 

A  bliss  unknown  before  ; 
Though  crowded  is  the  way  and  straight, 

There  still  is  room  for  more  : 
What  if  the  way  be  rough  to-day, 

The  night  prove  drear  or  cold, 
It  shall  not  change  His  loving  voice, 

Or  shut  us  from  the  fold ! 


76 


A   HOUSEHOLD   LAMENTATION. 

ROOM,  Mother  Earth,  upon  thy  breast  for 

this  young  child  of  ours  ; 
Give  her  a  quiet  resting-place  among  thy 

buds  and  flowers ; 
Oh,  take  her  gently  from  our  arms  unto  thy 

silent  fold, 
For  she  is  calmly  beautiful,  and  scarcely  two 

years  old, 
And  ever  since  she  breathed  on  us   hath 

tender  nursing  known : 
No  wonder  that  with  aching  hearts  we  leave 

her  here  alone. 

How  shall  we  miss  the   roguish   glee,  the 

ever  merry  voice, 
That   in   the   darkest,  dreariest  day  would 

make  us  to  rejoice  ! 
How  sweet  was  every  morning  kiss,  each 

parting  for  the  night, 
Her  lisping  words,  that  on  us  fell  as  gently 

as  the  light ! 


77 

But  death  came  softly  to  the  spot  where  she 

was  wont  to  rest, 
And  bade  us  take  her  from  our  own  and  lay 

her  on  thy  breast. 

So,  Mother,  thou  hast  one  child  more,  and 

we  a  darling  less  ; 
One  sunny  spot  in  all  our  hearts  seems  now 

a  wilderness, 
From  which  the  warm  light  of  the  spring 

has  wandered  swift  and  far, 
And   nothing  there    of    radiance    left    but 

memory's  solemn  star : 
We  gaze  a  moment  on  its  light,  then  sadly 

turn  aside, 
As  though  we  now  had  none  to  love,  and 

all  with  her  had  died. 

Ah  well,  we  know  we  should  rejoice  that 

she  has  gone  before,  — 
Gone  where  the  withering  hand  of  death 

shall  never  touch  her  more, 
Up  to  the  clime  of  sinless  souls,  a  golden 

harp  to  bear, 
And  join  the  everlasting   song  of  singing 

children  there ; 
Yet,  when  we  think  how  dear  she  was  to  us 

in  her  brief  stay, 
We  can  but  weep  that  one  so  sweet  so  early 

passed  away. 


A   SUNBEAM   AND   A   SHADOW. 


I  HEAR  a  shout  of  merriment, 

A  laughing  boy  I  see  ; 
Two  little  feet  the  carpet  press, 

And  bring  the  child  to  me. 

Two  little  arms  are  round  my  neck, 
Two  feet  upon  my  knee ; 

How  fall  the  kisses  on  my  cheek  ! 
How  sweet  they  are  to  me  ! 


n. 

That  merry  shout  no  more  I  hear, 

No  laughing  child  I  see  ; 
No  little  arms  are  round  my  neck, 

Or  feet  upon  my  knee. 

No  kisses  drop  upon  my  cheek,  — 
Those  lips  are  sealed  to  me ; 

Dear  Lord,  how  could  I  give  him  up 
To  any  but  to  Thee  ? 


79 


MASTER,   IS   IT   U 

MY  Master,  at  that  board  I  sat  to-day, 
Whereon   the    riches  of    Thy  love  are 

spread,  — 
The  blood-red  wine,  the  white  and  broken 

bread,  — 

To  feast  Thy  poor  disciples  by  the  way. 
And  as  I  sat  with  those  in  waiting  there, 

Methought  I  heard  Thy  voice  unto  me  say, 
As  unto  those  who  at  Jerusalem  were, 

There  is  among  you  one  who  shall  betray ! 
When  first  I  heard,  I  thanked  thee  I  was 

clear 

Of  such  intent ;  but  soon  my  depth  of  sin, 
My  lack  of  love,  my  weakness  did  appear, 
To  show  what  faithless  follower  I  had 

been ; 

And  filled  with  dread  I  cried,  as  now  I  cry, 
Have  pity,  Master  :  Master,  is  it  I  ? 


8o 


TRUST   ABSOLUTE. 

PAUSE,  O  my  soul,  and  here  thy  life  review ! 

God  honors  not  a  service  poor  and  mean  ; 
Shalt  thou  to  all  the  world  be  steadfast,  true, 

And  in  thy  sorrows  only  on  Him  lean  ? 
Thou  canst  not  wander  thus,  as  suits  thy 
will, 

And  have  thy  way,  and  cold  and  selfish 

be,- 
Denying  thus  His  name,  while  claiming  still 

His  gracious  help,  when  so  it  pleases  thee : 

Nay,  not  so ; 
If  thou  thy  Lord  wouldst  know, 

No  more  His  claims  dispute ; 

Be  thy  trust  absolute 
If  thou  in  grace  and  truth  wouldst  daily  grow. 

Tell  me,  O  soul,  as  here  I  question  thee, 

If  now  the  gains  count  equal  to  the  loss  ? 
Look  on  the  world :  Ah,  has  it  brought  to 

thee 

From  mine  or  mart  that  which  outweighs 
the  cross?  — 


8i 


His  cross,  and  He  thy  Lord,  as  Lord  of  all. 

Whose  great  heart  o'er  thee  yearns,  while 

even  here 
These  words  of  sweetest  pity  on  thee  fall,  — 

"  My  perfect  love  can  cast  out  every  fear." 

Even  so ; 
Wouldst  thou  this  great  love  know, 

This  wondrous  gain  compute  ? 

Be  thy  trust  absolute, 
And  evermore  in  grace  and  knowledge  grow. 

Call'st  thou  the  service  hard,  —  the  recom 
pense 

Of  the  reward  unworthy  ?    Not  of  old 
So  seemed  it  to  thee.     Know  ye  not  from 

whence 
This    change   and    loss  ?      Only   thyself 

behold ! 

Ye  sought  out  other  masters  than  thy  Lord, 
And  would  have  other  loves  though  losing 

Him, 

Unconscious  of  the  loss  and  the  reward : 
Ah,  who  can  follow  when  the  eyes  are  dim ! 

Was  't  not  so  ? 

Thy  Lord  how  couldst  thou  know 
When  thou  wert  blind  and  mute  ? 
Be  thy  trust  absolute 

If  daily  thou  in  grace  and  truth  wouldst 
grow! 

6 


82 

Comes  there  not  now  a  vision  of  long  ago  ? 
Thou  art  as  Jacob  wrestling  at  the  day  ; 
Let  not  the  angel  silent  from  thee  go,  — 
Send  thou  the  world,  and  not  thy  Lord, 

away ! 
Lovest   thou    Me,   and  more  than   these  ? 

Such  word 

He  spake  to  Peter.     Answer  as  did  he 
Out  of    the   depths,  —  Thou    knowest   all 

things,  Lord — 
That  with  my  better  self  I  do  love  Thee  ! 

Loving  so, 

Thou  shalt  not  fail  to  know 
His  will ;  —  thine  own  be  mute : 
So  with  trust  absolute 
Wilt  evermore  in  grace  and  knowledge  grow. 


LONGINGS. 

WEARY,  Lord,  of  struggling  here 
With  this  constant  doubt  and  fear, 
Burdened  by  the  pains  I  bear, 
And  the  trials  I  must  share,  — 
Help  me,  Lord,  again  to  flee 
To  the  rest  that 's  found  in  Thee. 

Weakened  by  this  wayward  will 
Which  controls,  yet  cheats  me  still ; 
Seeking  something  undefined 
With  an  earnest,  darkened  mind,  — 
Help  me,  Lord,  again  to  flee 
To  the  light  that  breaks  from  Thee. 

Fettered  by  this  earthly  scope 
In  the  reach  and  aim  of  hope, 
Fixing  thought  in  narrow  bound 
Where  no  living  truth  is  found,  — 
Help  me,  Lord,  again  to  flee 
To  the  hope  that 's  fixed  in  Thee. 


84 

Fettered,  burdened,  wearied,  weak, 
Lord,  Thy  grace  again  I  seek ; 
Turn,  oh,  turn  me  not  away,  — 
Help  me,  Lord,  to  watch  and  pray, 
That  I  nevermore  may  flee 
From  the  rest  that 's  found  in  Thee. 


"THAT   PASSETH    UNDERSTAND 
ING." 

0  THOU  eternal,  Thou  all-sovereign  One, 
By  whom  the  worlds  with  all  they  hold 

were  made,  — 
The  Father's  well-beloved,  and  the  Son, 

To  whom  coequal  honor  shall  be  paid ! 
One  word  of  Thine,  and  e'en  the  mightiest 

hills 
Would  shake  and  fall,  the  ocean  cease  its 

roar, 

And  all  that  comforts  or  with  pleasure  fills 
The  heart  of  man,  be  seen  and  felt  no 

more ! 

How  can  I  comprehend 
That  Thou  wilt  be  my  friend  ? 

1  know,  O  Lord,  that  I  have  need  of  Thee,  — 
Yet  what  am  I  that  Thou  art  wanting  me  ? 

The  stars  that  bless  the  highways  of  the 
night, 

The  sun,  whose  steady  glory  fills  the  day, 
And  hosts  of  angels,  constant  in  their  flight, 

With  all  material  things  Thy  will  obey  : 


86 

Of  these  not  one  in  all  their  courses  fail,  — 

They  ever  for  Thy  service  on  Thee  wait ; 

While  all  combined  powers  could  not  prevail 

To  shake  that  kingdom  which  alone  is 

great: 

Lord,  can  I  comprehend 
That  Thou  shouldst  be  my  friend  ? 
I  know,  O  Lord,  that  I  have  need  of  Thee,  — 
Yet  what  am  I  that  Thou  art  wanting  me  ? 

I  am  as  but  the  balance  dust,  — a  mote 

That  floats  upon  the  early  morning  air, 
Which  e'en  a  mortal  king  would  fail  to  note, 
Or    brush   aside    without  a  thought  or 

care, — 
A  passing  ripple  on  the  sandy  shore, 

That  rolls  and  breaks,  but  has  no  power 

to  stay,  — 

Or,  at  my  best,  one  who  might  be  no  more, 
With  few  to  miss  him  in  the  common  way : 
How  can  I  comprehend 
That  Thou  wilt  be  my  friend  ? 
I  know,  O  Lord,  that  I  have  need  of  Thee,  — 
Yet  what  am  I  that  Thou  art  wanting  me  ? 

O  Lord,  I  thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast  re 
vealed 
Such  love,  and  honor  put  on  one  so  mean ; 


87 

Thy  grace  the  hidden  mystery  hath  unsealed, 

I,  all  unworthy,  have  Thy  glory  seen ! 
And  still  the  wonder  grows  no  less  that  I 
May  call   Thee   Master,  and  Thy  great 

name  bear ;  — 
That  Thou,  O  Lord,  for  such  as  me  shouldst 

die, 

And  ever  have  me  in  Thy  loving  care, 
I  cannot  comprehend, 
Yet  know  Thou  art  my  friend,  — 
Know  that  I  evermore  have  need  of  Thee,  — 
Yet  what  am  I  that  Thou  art  wanting  me  ? 


PART  II. 
MY  SHIPS,  ETC. 


MY   SHIPS. 


AH,  years  ago,  —  no  matter  where, 

Beneath  what  roof  or  sky,  — 
I  dreamed  of  days,  perhaps  remote, 
When  ships  of  mine  that  were  afloat 

Should  in  the  harbor  lie, 
And  all  the  costly  freights  they  bore 
Enrich  me  both  in  mind  and  store. 

What  dreams  they  were  of  argosies, 

Laden  in  many  a  clime : 
So  stoutly  built,  so  bravely  manned, 
No  fear  but  they  would  come  to  land 

At  their  appointed  time ; 
And  I  should  see  them,  one  by  one, 
Close  furl  their  sails  in  summer's  sun. 

And  then,  while  men  in  wonder  stood, 

My  ships  I  would  unlade  ; 
My  treasures  vast  they  should  behold, 
And  to  my  learning  or  my  gold 

What  honors  would  be  paid  ! 
And  though  the  years  might  come  and  go, 
I  could  but  wiser,  richer  grow. 


92 


II. 


In  later  years,  —  no  matter  where, 

Beneath  what  roof  or  sky,  — 
I  saw  the  dreams  of  days  remote 
Fade  out,  and  ships  that  were  afloat, 

As  drifting  wrecks,  go  by ; 
And  all  the  many  freights  they  bore 
Lay  fathoms  deep,  or  strewed  the  shore ! 

While  ships  of  which  I  never  thought 

Were  sailing  o'er  the  sea ; 
And  one  by  one,  with  costlier  lade, 
In  safety  all  the  voyage  made, 

And  Drought  their  freights  to  me : 
What  I  had  lost  but  trifle  seemed, 
And  I  was  richer  than  I  dreamed ! 

No  wondering  crowd,  with  envious  eye, 

Looked  on  my  treasures  rare ; 
Yet  they  were  weightier  far  than  gold  : 
They  still  increase,  though  I  grow  old, 

And  are  beyond  compare  : 
Would  all  the  restless  hearts  I  see, 
Had  ships  like  these  that  came  to  me  ! 


93 


THE   SUMMER   DROUGHT. 

DAY  after  day  the  fiery  sun  sends  down 
Unmoistened    heat   on    mountain   and    on 

plain, 
And  shallow  brooks,  and  meadows  crisp  and 

brown 
Lift  up  the  cry  for  rain. 


Night  after  night  the  myriad  stars  move  on 
Undimmed  by  cloud,  along  their  trackless 

way; 
While  all  the  dews  are  from  the  heavens 

withdrawn, 
And  e'en  the  flowers  decay. 


"  God  send  us  rain  !  "  breaks  from  impatient 

lips ; 
Yet  night  or  morn  no  promise   brings  or 

change, 

For  still  the  burning  sun  has  no  eclipse 
In  all  his  daily  range. 


94 

Oh,  weary  nights !  oh,  long  and  toilsome  days, 
When  God  holds  back  His  moisture  from 

the  land, 
And  woods  and  fields,  and  all  life's  trodden 

ways 
Are  dry  as  desert  sand. 

Oh,  days  and  nights  more  drear  and  toilsome 

still, 
In  which  the  parched  soul  sits  dumb  with 

pain, 
Nor  asks  that  God  would  gracious  be,  and 

fill 
Its  empty  springs  again. 

Lord,  send  Thy  quickening  rain,  and  hill  and 
field 

And  stream,  to  life  as  from  the   dead  re 
store  ; 

So  that  the  autumn  harvests  to  us  yield 
Their  blessings  as  before. 

Break  up,  O  Lord,  this  more  than  summer 

drought 

Wherein  our  thirsty  souls  so  long  have  lain  ; 
Bend  low  Thy  heavens,  and  on  us,  Lord,  pour 

out 
Thy  blessed  latter  rain  ! 


95 


THE   FRIEND   WHO   WAITS. 

Do  you  recall  that  saintly  monk  of  old 
Thomas  a  Kempis,  who  with  wondrous  pen 
Out  of  his  heart  the  love  of  Jesus  told 

For  him  as  for  all  men  ?  — 
That  we  by  grace  escaping  from  our  thrall 
Might  out  of  weakness  rise  to  imitate 
The  Kingliest  of  our  race,  from  low  estate 
Reach  heights  that  angels  know  not  ?    All 

in  all 

Was  Christ  unto  his  soul ;  therein  is  found 
His  quick  of  greatness  !  Loved  we  the  world 

less, 
How  in  such  gifts  as  his  might  we  abound, 

And  more  of  our  love  confess  ! 

Of  him  't  is  said  that  from  his  daily  task 
With  other  monks  he  oft  would  break  away, 
Saying,  "  Good  friends,  I  go,  nor  will  you 

ask 

Why  I  would  not  delay ; 
That  Friend  is  waiting  for  me  in  my  cell 


96 

Whose  presence   there  on  earth  a  heaven 

will  make." 
Ah !  well  they  knew  it  was  of   Christ  he 

spake,  — 

That  Elder  Brother,  whom  he  loved  so  well. 
Who  shall  declare  what  glories  then  he  saw, 
Communing  with  his  Lord,  as  face  to  face, 
When  Love  shut  out  the  terrors  of  the  law, 
And  added  grace  to  grace  ! 

Would  that  we  might  so  use  our  privileged 
powers,  — 

Thus  in  the  restless  searches  of  the  day 

Make  luminous  some  fragments  of  the  hours 
With  prayer  and  praise  !  Alway 

Our  Lord  is  waiting  for  us  where  we  will ; 

And  yet  we  keep  Him  waiting,  while  we 
gain 

That  which  may  bring  us  only  loss  or  pain, 

And  our  dull  souls  with  restless  longings 
fill: 

What  if  at  such  delay  He  weary  grow, 

Or  touched  by  cold  indifference  should  de 
part  ? 

Go  not,  dear  Lord !  nay,  Lord,  that  grace 
bestow 

Which  evermore  shall  keep  us  where  Thou 
art! 


97 


A  VISION   OF   REST. 

THE  full  round  moon,  the  cloudless  sky 
Where  now  the  early  frost  distils ; 

The  tranquil  river  rolling  by, 

And  outline  clear  of  sombre  hills. 

The  trees  their  spectral  branches  lift 
O'er  meadows  brown  and  gardens  bare, 

While  on  the  ground  the  shadows  drift, 
Or  float  upon  the  dreamy  air. 

The  day,  with  vexing  care  opprest, 
Gives  place  to  night  and  thoughts  serene 

And  brings,  with  consciousness  of  rest, 
A  sense  of  glory  yet  unseen. 

Oh,  holy  trust !  oh,  peace  profound  ! 

Here,  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
I  pass  as  one  o'er  hallowed  ground 

To  some  unknown,  some  Pisgah  height, 
7 


98 

From  whence  the  distant  stars  are  near, 
These  cool  gray  hills  seem  far  away, 

While  in  the  changing  lights  appear 
The  heralds  of  the  coming  day  : 

Not  day  that  gives  to  me  once  more 
The  common  round  of  toil  and  care,  — 

The  burdens  I  at  morning  bore, 

And  each  to-morrow  still  must  bear ; 

The  contact  with  life's  meaner  things 
That  soil  and  would  my  soul  possess  ; 

Or  dim  forgetfulness  that  brings 
Not  rest,  but  sense  of  weariness. 

O  holier  life,  O  clearer  day, 

That  now  my  heart  with  rapture  fills, 
When  will  these  shadows  drift  away, 

When  burst  thy  light  beyond  the  hills  ? 

Yon  moon,  in  light  effulgent,  fade  ? 

These  glittering  stars  obscure  their  fires  ? 
Come,  O  that  hour,  too  long  delayed, 

And  bring  me  what  my  soul  desires. 

Peace,  thankless  soul !  dost  thou  behold 
God's  glory  to  forget  His  will  ? 

Shall  He  such  beauty  here  unfold 
To  make  thee  more  impatient  still  ? 


99 

The  visions  of  a  night  like  this 
The  purpose  of  the  day  unnerve, 

And  dreamy  thoughts  of  future  bliss 
Unfit  thee  now  to  wait  and  serve  ? 

Fade  out,  ye  stars  !  descend,  O  moon, 
Where  spreads  the  clear  horizon's  rim  ! 

Come,  day  of  toil,  and  bring  the  boon 
They  have  who  watch  and  wait  for  Him  ! 


100 


CHRIST  THE  THEME  OF  SONG  IN 
ALL   AGES. 

OH,  endless  theme  of  never-ceasing  song 

And  music,  wakened  by  supremest  love  ! 
How  hath   it   broke  from  feeble   lips   and 

strong, 
The  power  divine,  and  matchless  grace 

to  prove : 
Christ  Son  of  God,  and  Christ  the  Son  of 

Man, 
Christ  on  the  cross,  and  Christ  in  kingly 

reign. 

So  through  the  ages,  since  the  song  began, 
With  swelling  hosts,  the  saints  repeat  the 
strain. 

On  hills  and  plains  the  Israelite  only  knew, 
On  classic  soil,  on  drifting  desert  sand, 

Where'er  the  Roman  eagles  swiftly  flew, 
Or  roamed  abroad  the  fierce,  ungoverned 
band ; 


101 

'Mong  Jew  and  Gentile,  as   in  wandering 

horde, 
Barbarian,   Scythian,    all,    the    bond    or 

free,  — 
There  were  who  watched  and  waited  for  the 

Lord, 

And  some  who  did  His  mighty  wonders 
see. 

How  from  the  warm  and  ever-ruddy  East, 

Far  to  the  rugged  North  and  golden  West, 
The  knowledge  of  this  wondrous  Christ  in 
creased, 
With   life   and   hope   the   dying  nations 

blessed: 
Thence  saints,  exultant,  onward  bore   His 

sign 
From  land  to  land,  and  compassed  every 

shore ; 
One   Lord,   one    faith,   one    aim,   one   end 

divine, 

Their  theme  and  song,  their  life  forever- 
more  ! 

Since  holy  women  bowed  their  heads  and 

wept, 

Where  from  the  grave  the  angel  rolled 
the  stone,  — 


102 

That  grave  where  He,  the  Son  of  God,  had 

slept 

As  Son  of  Man,  in  darkness  and  alone,  — 
What  countless  names  the  world's  applause 

have  won ! 
What  notes  of  praise  have  men  to  these 

inscribed ! 

How  soon  to  be  forgotten,  one  by  one, 
And  earth's  poor  honors  to  the  dead  de 
nied  ! 

Not  mightiest  kings  the  earth  has  ever  seen, 
Nor  time,  nor  powers  men  honored  or  ab 
horred, 

Could  crush  the  memory  of  the  Nazarene, 
Or  shut  the  saints  from  presence  of  their 

Lord : 

In  kingly  courts,  in  prisons  foul  and  damp, 
In  scenes   tumultuous,   as   in  homes  of 

peace, 
There,  with  His  own,  God's  Angel  would 

encamp, 

There  rise  the  songs  that  nevermore  shall 
cease! 

Thus  through  the  years  of  ages  long  ago, 
Thus  in  the  changes  of  these  latter  days : 

One  only  Lord,  our  Lord,  above-,  below, 
And  He  the  object  of  our  endless  praise  : 


103 

This  the  same  key-note  of  unnumbered  lyres; 
This,  too,  the  unending  song  of  sweet  ac 
cord. 

O  world !  ye  have  no  theme  that  thus  in 
spires  ; 
Ye  still  reject  and  crucify  the  Lord. 

In  furnace-fires,   on   mountains   drear  and 

cold, 

In  peasant  hut  as  in  the  palace  hall, 
The  story  of  His  life  forever  told, 

And  His  dear  love  the  burning  theme  of 

all: 

From  lips  too  weak  aught  human  to  express, 
From  noble  hearts  that  held  the  world  at 

bay, 
What  songs  have  risen,  and  what  strains 

confess 

The  blessed  One  whom  I  would  praise 
to-day! 

Christ  Son  of  God,  and  Christ  the  Son  of 

Man; 
Christ  on  the  cross,  and  Christ  in  kingly 

reign  ! 

So  sang  the  saints  when  first  the  song  be 
gan; 
So  shall  it  rise,  a  never-ending  strain. 


104 

Come  Thou,  and  touch  my  lips,  that  I  may 

sing; 

Come  fill  my  heart  with  love  to  overflow : 
My  Lord,  my  Life,  I   would  some  tribute 

bring, 

And  tell  the  world  how  much  to  Thee  I 
owe ! 


I05 


WITHIN   AND   WITHOUT. 

SOMETIMES  into  my  soul 

I  sadly  look, 

And  try  to  read  it,  as  I  oft  have  read 
A  strange,  mysterious  book, 

Wherein  the  thought  beyond 

My  laboring  brain 

Has  vexed  me  in  a  long  and  vain  attempt 
Its  meanings  to  obtain. 

How  can  I  comprehend 
This  soul  of  mine,  — 

The  true,  the  false,  the  clear,  the  complicate, 
The  human,  the  divine  ? 

What  mazes  do  I  find ! 
Where  do  they  tend  ? 
Of  all  I  read  what  do  I  understand, 
Or  fail  to  apprehend  ? 


io6 

Alas,  I  cannot  tell ! 
Sometimes  I  see 
The   deepest,  holiest  truth  flash  full   and 

clear,  — 
Then  all  is  dark  to  me. 

So  when  into  my  soul 

I  sadly  look, 

I  am  as  one  who  dreams  or  vaguely  reads 
A  strange,  mysterious  book  : 

He  fails  to  comprehend 

Except  in  part, 

And  often  turns  unsatisfied  away 
With  aching  brain  and  heart, 

Unless  there  come  to  him 

Some  teacher  wise, 

Who  will  unfold  the  subtile,  hidden  thought 
That  deep  within  it  lies. 

So  come,  O  Christ,  to  me : 

Nay,  I  will  go 

Out  of  myself  to  Thee,  and  Thou,  O  Lord, 
Wilt  teach  what  I  would  know. 


io7 


AN   AUTUMN   BURIAL. 

A  SWEET,  sad  day  in  autumn  time, 

When  cloud  and  sun,  and  earth  and  air, 

Blend  as  a  dream  of  some  pure  clime, 
Mysterious  and  fair. 

The  grass  its  earlier  green  has  lost, 
The  summer  flowers  their  blooms  have 
shed; 

And  beautiful  with  touch  of  frost, 
The  maple  lifts  its  head. 

Through  clouds  that  would  his  path  impede, 
The  sun  serenely  seeks  the  west; 

While  they  in  rosy  flecks  recede, 
Or  seem  to  lie  at  rest. 

The  singing  birds  are  far  away, 
The  summer  hours  too  soon  have  sped, 

And  left  to  me  this  autumn  day, 
The  dying  and  the  dead  ! 


io8 

Oh,  quickened  sense  of  time  and  change, 
Of  outward  calm  and  inward  strife ; 

Bewildering  thoughts  that  heavenward  range, 
Then  mix  with  human  life. 

The  cool  sweet  air,  the  sky  serene, 
The  clouds  adorned  with  gems  and  gold ; 

And  yet  what  shadows  lie  between, 
What  hearts  do  they  enfold  ! 

Here  close  beside  the  spreading  tree, 
Ere  winter's  cold  its  beauty  sears, 

We  make  a  resting-place  for  thee, 
O  friend  of  many  years  ! 

So  human  hearts  bereaved  must  ache 
When  our  beloved  lie  down  in  peace  : 

God  wills  that  we  new  burdens  take, 
That  they  have  full  release. 

Thy  sovereign  will,  O  God,  be  done,  — 
Thy  love  supreme  knows  what  is  best ; 

Shall  I  have  strength  the  race  to  run, 
Shall  I  attain  the  rest  ?  — 

That  rest  beyond  all  thought  or  speech,  — 
Thy  gift,  to  none  who  seek  denied  ; 

The  perfect  rest  we  only  reach 
Through  Him  who  loved  and  died : 


log 

With  peace,  whose  depths  we  cannot  know, 
Howe'er  we  seek,  how  much  we  crave, 

Till  Thy  great  hand  shall  open  throw 
The  gateways  of  the  grave  ! 

Dear  Son  of  God,  who  came  to  weep 
Where  one  of  Thy  beloved  was  laid 

(He  at  Thy  voice  awoke  from  sleep, 
Thy  call  to  life  obeyed), 

I  ask  not  for  my  dead  again, 

Only  Thy  help  :  come,  Lord,  and  show 
How  through  this  loss  and  sense  of  pain 

I  more  of  Thee  may  know ! 

Sleep  on,  O  friend,  supremely  blessed, 
While  fades  afar  this  autumn  day ; 

While  fills  with  golden  light  the  west, 
An  unbeclouded  way  ! 

Oh,  life  beyond,  —  oh,  sinless  land, 
Where  falls  no  changing,  darkling  air ! 

I  in  the  shadows  waiting  stand, 
And  thou  hast  entered  there  ! 


no 


A   SUNDAY   THOUGHT. 

THE  sunlight  floods  the  hills, 
The  water  ripples  in  the  quiet  bays  ; 
While  through  the  wood  the  gentle  south 

wind  plays, 
And  every  stately  pine  with  music  fills. 

I  hear  the  twittering  birds, 
The  chirping  squirrel  running  to  and  fro ; 
And  in  the  pastures  which  so  well  they  know, 
Contented    browse    the    patient,   lowing 
herds. 

No  hum  of  human  life,  — 
How  peaceful  yonder  hamlet,  and  how  still ! 
The  moving  air  wakes  no  discordant  thrill, 
No  echoing  sound  of  labor  or  of  strife. 

The  tumult  of  the  earth 
Seems  hushed  to  peace ;  and  thus,  scarce 

knowing  why, 
The  restless  heart  grows  calm,  as  round  it 

lie 
The  hidden  forces  of  celestial  birth. 


Ill 

Is  it  the  rest  of  peace  ? 
Can  hush  of  sound,  or  air,  or  sky  serene, 
These  quiet  woods,  with  sunny  paths  be 
tween, 

Hold  fast  the  soul,  or  bid  its  tumults  cease  ? 
I 

Only  a  few  brief  days, 

And  the  north  wind  will  come,  and  as  a  blast ; 
The  frost  pierce  deep  and  keen,  the  broad 

woods  cast 
Their  leafless  shadows  over  dreary  ways. 

Even  the  morning's  sun 
Will  bring  the  struggle  and  the  strife  once 

more ; 

And  in  the  old  round,  as  in  the  days  before, 
I  must  take  up  my  burdens  one  by  one. 

Oh,  promise,  firm  and  sure,  — 
"  Not  as  the  world  giveth,  give  I  unto  thee :  " 
Such,  O  my  Lord,  Thy  promise  is  to  me 
Of  peace,  —  that  peace  which  ever  shall 
endure ! 

Nor  time,  nor  change,  nor  place 
Shall  wrest  or  break  this  word ;  to  it  I  hold 
Alike  in  storm  or  calm,  in  heat  or  cold, 
Encompassed  by  Thy  ministry  of  grace. 


112 


FOR   MY   SAKE. 

A   THOUGHT   FROM   RUDOLPH   STIER. 

NOT  for  Thy  sake,  but  mine,  O  Lord  of 

glory, 

Thou  didst  lay  Thy  regal  raiment  by ; 
Not  for  Thy  sake,  but  mine,  —  oh,  wondrous 

story !  — 
Came  to  suffer,  and  for  me  to  die ! 

Lo !  the  King,  with  love  supreme  and  end 
less, 

Did  the  office  of  a  servant  bear ; 
Crowned  with   thorns,   and    buffeted,   and 

friendless, 
That  I  might  be  made  a  kingly  heir! 

Turn,  O  man,  the  world's  historic  pages  ; 

Scan  each  noble,  each  heroic  deed : 
Can  ye  find  in  all  recording  ages 

Such  a  love,  to  meet  so  sore  a  need  ? 


Not  in  old  or  new  or  mystic  story 

Is  there  that  ye  may  with  this  compare ; 

King  of  kings  !  who  put  aside  His  glory, 
That  I  might  a  crown  of  glory  wear ! 

For  my  sake,  O  Lord,  this  abnegation, 
When    Thine   angels   stood    from   Thee 

apart ; 

For  my  sake,  the  death  and  desolation !  — 
Peace,    my     wondering     and    perplexed 
heart  — 

Here  so  much  as  this  to  thee  unfolding,  — 
More  than  this  the  human  could  not  bear ; 

And  the  rest  when  thou,  His  face  beholding, 
Shalt  the  fulness  of  His  glory  share  ! 


I.  N.   B. 

SHE  waited  for  the  coming  of  her  Lord, 
As  one  who  knew  that  He  was  near  at  hand ; 
She  had  gone  down  into  the  Border  Land, 
And  stood  beside  the  river  at  the  ford, 
Ready  to  cross  as  He  should  give  command. 
With  her   He   stood,   encompassed   round 

about 

By  unseen  angels ;  when  a  sudden  light 
Fell  on  her  face,  as  though  there  then  went 

out 

The  final  touch  of  Nature,  while  her  sight, 
As  that  of  Stephen,  rapturous  with  delight, 
Beheld  her  Lord  !  And  when  she  called  His 

name, 
Her  hand  outstretched  with  voice  so  clear, 

so  sweet, 
We  could  but  praise  Him,  as  to  her  He 

came, 
And  took  her  hence,  and   made  her  joy 

complete. 


ABIDING   WITH   GOD. 

Let  every  one,  whatever  his  calling  be, 

Therein  abide  with  God.     So  wrote  of  old 
Saint  Paul  to  them  at  Corinth,  and  to  me 

With  loving  lips  to-night  that  truth  was 

told. 
I  had  grown  weary  with  my  strifes  and  cares, 

And  murmured  at  the  service  of  the  day, 
Wherein  I  had  forgotten,  unawares, 

That  thus  I  still  might  honor  and  obey. 

Abide  with  God!    Would  I  might  ne'er  for-      \ 

get, 

That  evermore  I  may  with  Him  abide  ! 
What  matters  how  or  when  the  stamp  is  set, 
Or  what  the  furnace  where  the  gold  is  tried, 
So  that  the  metal  has  the  sterling  ring, 
So   that    the   likeness    of    the    King    is 

shown,  — 
God's  coinage   still,  that  to   the  soul  will       / 

bring 

Such  wealth  as  merchant  princes  have  not 
known. 

In  market-places  where  the  race  is  swift, 
And  competition  on  temptation  waits ; 


n6 

In  quiet  homes  where  unseen  currents  drift 
A   thousand    petty   cares    through   open 

gates,  — 

Let  each  and  all,  whate'er  the  calling  be, 
Therein  abide  with  God ;   from  break  of 

day 

Till  set  of  sun  they  shall  His  purpose  see, 
And  serve  Him  in  His  own  appointed  way. 

/       So  let  me  see  and  serve,  and  thus  abide : 
Not  simply  patient,  or  at  best  content ; 
Not  with  eye-service,  wherein,  love  denied, 
In  rounds  of  duty  solemn  days  are  spent. 
Give  me,  O  Lord,  a  joy  that  is  divine, 
Touch  Thou  my  lips  with  constant  themes 

of  praise ; 
Since,  having  Thee,  all  things  I  need  are 

mine, 

Whate'er  my  lot,  whate'er  my  length  of 
days. 


A   CAMP-FIRE   STORY. 


FOOTSORE  and  weary  with  our  long  day's 

tramp 

Upon  the  mountain  top  we  stood  at  last ; 
"Here  for  a  while,"  we  said,  "we  will  en 
camp, 
Here  rest  and  break  our  fast." 


From  early  noon  almost  till  set  of  sun, 
O'er  rushing  streams,  through  woods  and 

thickets  dense, 

Our  upward  way  had  wearily  been  won, 
And,  lo  !  the  recompense  ! 

From  north  to  south,  as  from  the  east  to  west, 
Peak  upon  peak  the  circling  mountains 

rose ; 

Some  with  the  purple  lying  on  their  breast, 
Some  crowned  with  lingering  snows ; 


n8 

the  shadows  of  the  dosing  day,  — 
Those  noiseless  heralds  of  the  night  at 


Stood  oat  as  gouts  dad  in  black  and  gray, 
The  warders  of  the  land, 

Above,  the  clouds  in  many  a  fleck  and  fold 

Of  tint  and  color  floated  calmly  on; 
Below,  the  lake  its  gleaming  waters  rolled, 
The  mid-day  glories  goae. 

We  laughed  and  talked,  outstretched  upon 

the  ground, 
TiD  with  die  deepening  twilight  silence 


TiD  each  within  a  kindred  feefing  found, 
Alike,  jet  not  the  same. 

And  on  each  face,  as  in  the  dieaniy  eye, 
There  was  that  far-off  look  we 


In  children's  faces,  when  they  meet  or  try 
To  solve  a  •j^tay. 

And  so  we  osased  ontO  the  fan  mght  came. 
And  then,  where  rose  the  camp-fire's  lurid 

gleams, 

Each  came,  when  called  by  his  familiar  name. 
Out  of  his  world  of  dreams. 


"9 

And  far  into  the  night  so  lone  a*MJ  weird, 

V.'t  ::.i::-  i  :-.  -,'i  -tt-itf  il.t;    ;-:".:.;.  -:. 
Tin  one  slow  ottered,  -God  is  here  en- 

szr.trti 
In  temples  by  TTi 

**  jio  tdnnle  reared  ovslow  ^ 

]  -  _   5  .  "•'  '.-   _  ".".-:  rt  -   :  :"     '    .".  _./.  ir.   -:.-._:. 
With  awe  like  this  mj  earnest  sool  could  fill, 
Hy  higher  nature  reach. 


where  die   countless   stars    their 
sweep  Titain^*** 
Above  the  mountains  which  impassive 

stand: 

Lo!  law  and  order  in  perpetual  reign, 
The  gospel  of  God's  hand  I 

"I  know  not  how  or  why  or  whence  they 

rose; 

I  am  content  with  what  I  see  and  feel, 
Nor  care  if  they  a  first  great  cause  disclose 
Or  final  end  reveaL 

**  I  worship  best  where  Nature  has   her 


And  here  to-night  I  am  as  one  at  rest; 
If  or  ask  th^f  any  change  his  faith  for  "»"»^, 
Though  mine  I  know  is  best," 


120 

Then    came   a  pause :    above  the  silenced 

camp 

The  restless  fire  shot  high  its  fitful  flame, 
Whils  o'er  the  dreary  mountains,  thick  and 

damp, 
A  chilling  night-wind  catne. 


II. 


Soon,  one  by  one,  the  tired  campers  slept, 
While  Pierre,  the  guide,  and  I  sat  there 

alone 

And  silent  mused,  as  dreamy  watch  we  kept, 
O'er  light  on  darkness  thrown. 

A  plain  unlettered  man,  he  little  knew 
Of  books  and  all  the  wisdom  they  dis 
pense  ; 

Still,  by  his  fellows,  rated  honest,  true, 
And  full  of  common  sense. 

Last  year,  so  in  the  village  we  were  told, 

He  wifeless,  childless,  in  a  week  became; 
How  safe,   I   thought,  those   brawny  arms 

might  hold 
Whatever  bore  his  name. 


121 

It  was  no  fancy,  watching  then  and  there, 

That  I  could  read  upon  his  sunburnt  face 
Something  still  deeper  than  those  lines  of 

care 
That  time  and  sorrow  trace  : 

Touches  of  grace  the  eye  can  ill  define, 
That  tell  of  suffering  and  yet  speak  of 

rest ; 

The  subtile  symbols  of  a  work  divine 
In  looks,  not  words,  expressed. 

I  scarce  knew  why ;  yet  as  he  stood  and  plied 

The  waning  fire  till  far  its  light  arose, 
I  thought  of  martyrs  who  in  flames  had  died, 
And  straight  again  of  those 

/  Who  year  on  year  without  the  martyr's  fame 
\      In  living,  not  in  dying,  do  God's  will : 
A  burning  bush  with  mystic  fire  aflame, 
Consumed,  yet  burning  still,    j 

Pierre  broke  our  silence,  speaking  calm  and 

slow, 
As  one  who  feared  to  speak  what  well  he 

knew : 
"  How  little  we  of  God  and  heaven  would 

know  - 
If  what  Hall  said  were  true ! 


122 

"  Here  in  these  mountains  I  was  born,  and 

here 
Have  always  lived,  —  here  too  I  hope  to 

die  : 

I  in  them  all  have  hunted  bird  and  deer, 
And  heard  the  wild  beast's  cry. 

"  I  have  been  where  the  silence  was  so  deep 

That  it  was  awful ;  ached  e'en  for  a  sound 

Of  bird  or  beast  or  wind,  and  could  not 

sleep, 
So  dead  was  all  around. 

"  Was  I  afraid  then  ?  what  had  I  to  fear  ? 
I  knew  my  way  out,  as  I  knew  it  there : 
Did  I  then  think  of  God  ?  yes ;  not  as  near, 
Only  as  everywhere. 

"  One  time,  two  years  ago,  along  this  range, 
As  night  came  on,  somehow  I  lost  my 

way ; 

Well,  1  did  have  a  feeling  new  and  strange, 
And  then  I  tried  to  pray : 

"  I  tried  and  could  not,  still  I  knew  not  why ; 

I  wanted  help  and  yet  it  did  not  come  ; 
I  thought  I  must  get  hold  of  God  or  die, 
And  yet  my  lips  were  dumb. 


I23 

"  These  mountain  peaks,  they  did  not  fetch 

Him  near ; 
When   the   stars  came  they  brought   no 

help  to  me : 
Somehow  they  filled  me  more  and  more  with 

fear 
And  dread  of  what  might  be. 

"  And  how  did  I  escape  ?    When  daylight 

broke, 

After  long  search  I  hit  upon  my  way : 
Once   I    was   safe,   no   word   of    thanks    I 

spoke ; 
What  need  had  I  to  pray  ? 


"  What  changed  me  then  ?  "     He  told  with 

accents  low  — 
With  plaintive  voice,  and  tremulous  tender 

tone, 
Revealing  thus   the  depth  and  passionate 

flow 
Of  sorrows  he  had  known  — 


A  simple  tale  of  absence  long  delayed 

In  hunts  on  ranges  by  him  seldom  trod ; 
Of  his  return,  to  stand  aghast,  afraid, 
As  face  to  face  with  God. 


124 

Dead !  and  he  had  not  dreamed  that  they 

were  ill ; 
Buried !  e'en  while  he  sought  their  warm 

embrace : 

Not  here  !  but  lying  yonder,  cold  and  still, 
His  home  a  desolate  place  ! 


His  heart  was  stone,  and  hardened  evermore 
Under  the  pressure  of  rebellious  thought, 
While  he  alone  the  heavy  burden  bore, 
Alone  his  battle  fought ! 


Thus  hopeless,  helpless,  and  by  grief  con 
trolled, 

And  compassed  by  the  spirit  of  despair, 
Back  on  his  heart,  dazed  and  perplexed,  he 

rolled 
The  load  he  would  not  bear. 


So  months  went  on,  but  brought  no  glad  re 
lief; 
Nor  sun,  nor  star,  nor  plain,  nor  mountain 

height 
Could  lift  from  off  his  heart  the  sense  of 

grief, 
Or  change  the  dark  to  light ! 


125 

One  day  —  he  knew  not  how,  he  now  knew 

why  — 
There  came  a  sudden  light  like  that  to 

Saul; 

Out  of  himself  he  went,  and  God  came  nigh 
And  answered  to  his  call. 

He  told  the  story  of  his  grief,  his  sin ; 

He  prayed  alike  for  pardon  and  for  grace ; 
Opened  his  heart,  and  Christ  then  entered  in, 
To  fill  each  vacant  place  ! 

Though   scars    remained,   the    deep,   deep 

wounds  were  healed ; 
With  rest,  with  peace,  his  days,  his  nights 

were  crowned, 

Since  God,  not  Nature,  had  to  him  revealed 
The  Christ  whom  he  had  found ! 

Such  was  the  tale:  our  campers  rested  still, 
While  now  the  fire  burnt  on  with  steady 

flame, 

And  o'er  the  summit  of  a  distant  hill 
The  flush  of  morning  came. 


126 


UNTO   THE   DESIRED   HAVEN. 

PSALM   CVII. 

WHAT  matter  how  the  winds  may  blow, 

Or  blow  they  east,  or  blow  they  west  ? 
What  reck  I  how  the  tides  may  flow, 

Since  ebb  or  flood  alike  is  best  ? 
No  summer  calm,  no  winter  gale, 

Impedes  or  drives  me  from  my  way  ; 
I  steadfast  toward  the  haven  sail 

That  lies,  perhaps,  not  far  away. 

I  mind  the  weary  days  of  old, 

When  motionless  I  seemed  to  lie; 
The  nights  when  fierce  the  billows  rolled, 

And  changed  my  course,  I  knew  not  why. 
I  feared  the  calm,  I  feared  the  gale, 

Foreboding  danger  and  delay, 
Forgetting  I  was  thus  to  sail 

To  reach  what  seemed  so  far  away. 

I  measure  not  the  loss  and  fret 

Which  through   those  years  of  doubt  I 

bore; 
I  keep  the  memory  fresh,  and  yet 

Would  hold  God's  patient  mercy  more. 


127 

What  wrecks  have  passed  me  in  the  gale, 
What  ships  gone  down  on  summer-day; 

While  I,  with  furled  or  spreading  sail, 
Stood  for  the  haven  far  away. 

What  matter  how  the  winds  may  blow, 

Since  fair  or  foul  alike  is  best ; 
God  holds  them  in  His  hand,  I  know, 

And  I  may  leave  to  Him  the  rest, 
Assured  that  neither  calm  nor  gale 

Can  bring  me  danger  or  delay, 
As  still  I  toward  the  haven  sail 

That  lies,  I  know,  not  far  away. 


128 


THE   SILENT   HELPER. 

ALL  through  the  dreary  time  they  came  and 

went, — 
Those   friends  who  talked   in   mournful 

tones  and  low,  — 

And  still  they  brought  nor  peace,  nor  banish 
ment 
To  grief  whose  depths  't  was  mine  alone 

to  know : 

They  could  not  enter  where  I  had  to  go ; 
And  while  they  came  with  willing  feet, 
And  all  their  many  words  were  sweet, 
They  failed  to  bring  what  they  would  fain 
bestow. 

Oh,  smitten  heart  that  wandered  here  and 

there ! 
Oh,  aching  brain  that  would,  but  could 

not  rest ! 
Dear  loving  friends,  ye  sought  in  vain  to 

bear 
The  heavy  sorrow  that  my  soul  possessed, 


129 

And  so  the  limit  of  your  love  confessed : 
I   heard,  —  your  words  seemed  not  in 

vain ; 
Ye  went,  —  and  backward  came  the  pain, 

With  sense  of  loss  to  quicken  and  molest ! 

So  did  ye  sadly  come,  and  day  by  day 

With  yearning  faces  look  upon  my  dead ; 
Thus  stand  beside  me  while  I  laid  away 
The  dear,  dear  dust  within  the  narrow  bed: 
I    heard  with  tearful  eyes  what  then  ye 

said ; 

Your  looks  of  love  I  see  them  still ;  — 
Ye  could  not  find  the  way,  or  fill 
The  place  my  Lord  was  seeking  in  your 
stead ! 

Ah  me,  how  slow  of  heart,  how  poor  and 

dumb! 

Where  would  I  go  that  I  might  rest  ob 
tain  ? 

Why  was  the  noisy  world  so  swift  to  come 
And  plead  to  hold  my  bruised  heart  again  ? 
My  Lord  came  not.     Could  I  have  called 

in  vain, 

Or  from  me  had  He  turned  aside  ? 
While  knowing  one  of  mine  had  died, 
Was  He  indifferent  to  my  loss  and  pain  ? 
9 


130 

I  was  as  one  besieged  night  and  day 

By  the  incessant  hosts  of  doubt  and  fear ; 
They  pressed  my  soul,  e'en  when  I  knelt  to 

pray, 
And  drove  my  Lord  away  as  He  came 

near : 
I  called,  but  not  with  voice  that  He  could 

hear; 

I  sought  Him  where  I  might  not  find ; 
Then,  weak   as    one    who  had  grown 

blind, 

Said,  "  He  comes  not ;  oh,  when  will  He 
appear  ? " 

Oh,  silent  mystery  of  the  grace  divine 
That  on   my  sore    impatience   thus  did 

wait ; 
That   bore  with   meekness  this    unrest  of 

mine, 

And  suffered  not  the  mercy  to  abate  ! 
Dear  Lord,  Thou   wouldst  not  leave  me 

desolate, 

And  so  with  pitying  tenderness 
Remained  till  Thou  couldst  fully  bless, 
And  Thy  divinest  purpose  consummate. 

Oh,  changeful  hour,  and  unforgotten  way 
In  which  I  woke  as  from  a  dreamy  sleep ! 


No  voice  I  heard,  and  yet  without  delay 
I  went  as  Peter,  walking  on  the  deep ; 
I  saw  Thee  then,  and  cried,  "  O  Master, 

keep 

This  heart  of  mine  !    Come  Thou  and  fill 
This  void  of  Death  !  "    He  wrought  His 

will; 

And  peace  came  to  me,  though   I   still 
might  weep. 


OUTWARD   BOUND. 

I  SIT  and  watch  the  ships  go  out 

Across  the  widening  sea ; 
How  one  by  one,  in  shimmering  sun, 

They  sail  away  from  me  ! 
I  know  not  to  what  lands  they  sail, 

Nor  what  the  freights  they  bear  ; 
I  only  know  they  outward  go, 

While  all  the  winds  are  fair. 

Beyond  the  low  horizon  line 

Where  my  short  sight  must  fail, 
Some  other  eyes  a  watch  will  keep, 

Where'er  the  ships  may  sail ; 
By  night,  by  day,  or  near  or  far, 

O'er  narrow  seas  or  wide, 
These  follow  still,  at  love's  sweet  will, 

Whatever  may  betide. 

So  round  the  world  the  ships  will  sail, 

To  dreary  lands  or  fair ; 
So  with  them  go,  for  weal  or  woe, 

Some  dear  ones  everywhere : 


133 

How  will  these  speed  each  lagging  keel 
When  Homeward  it  is  laid ; 

Or  watch  will  keep,  o'er  surges  deep, 
If  there  a  grave  be  made  ! 

O  human  love,  so  tried,  so  true, 

That  knows  no  mete  nor  bound, 
But  follows  with  unwearied  watch 

Our  daily  changing  round ! 
O  Love  divine,  O  Love  supreme, 

What  matters  where  I  sail, 
So  I  but  know,  where'er  I  go, 

Thy  watch  will  never  fail ! 


'34 


THOMAS    HARVEY   SKINNER. 

NOT  now,  as  oft,  do  I  his  face  behold,  — 
The  man  of  gentle  will  and  courtly  mien, 
The  thoughtful  student,  earnest  yet  serene, 
Or  preacher,  by  whose  lips  God's  truth  was 

told, 
And  in  such  way  with  him  our  eyes  have 

seen 

Days  like  to  that  of  Pentecost  of  old  ! 
I  see  him  rather  as  a  little  child 
Aglow  with  love,  and  crowned  with  simplest 

grace, 

With  faith  that  fear  and  doubt  had  not  de 
filed, 

And  to  his  loving  Lord  so  reconciled, 
He  dwelt  within  the  smiling  of  His  face. 
I  think  in  midst  of  us  Christ  gave  him  place, 
To  teach,  as  once  before,  that  such  as  he 
They  must  become  who  would  His  kingdom 


THE   REST   OF   FAITH. 

WHY  vex  my  heart  on  what  I  need  not  know, 

Or  search  for  that  I  may  not  hope  to  find, 

While  restless  thoughts  still  urge  me  to  and 

fro, 

With  dull,  uneasy  mind  ? 
Shall  I  pursue  some  dangerous,  hidden  way, 
Or  strive  to  pierce  a  darkness  vast  and 

deep, 

Till  doubts  and  fears  assail  me,  or  delay, 
And  shut  me  from  the  calm,  effulgent  day, 
While  I  but  dream  or  sleep  ? 

Ah,  mysteries  compass  all  my  outer  life, 
While  hidden  deep  are  greater  mysteries 

still,  — 
The  good  and  evil  in  unending  strife, 

With  an  inconstant  will : 
Myself  not  e'en  myself  can  comprehend ; 
In  vain  I  drop  the  plummet  in  this  sea : 
Shall  I  deny  my  Lord,  reject  my  Friend, 
Since  all  His  ways  are  not  revealed  to  me, 
Or  I  know  not  their  end  ? 


'36 

E'er  since  began  my  life  its  common  round, 
As  day  succeeded  night,  or  night  the  day, 
My  toil  or  rest  have  I  not  ever  found 

In  God's  appointed  way? 
I  am  no  waif  tossed  on  a  rushing  stream 
By  changing  winds :   predestined  ends 

are  mine, 

With  knowledge  of  a  love  complete,  serene, 
And  watch  and  guidance  of  a  power  divine, 
Eternal,  and  supreme ! 

O  gracious  Lord,  who  from  the  wise  dost  hide 
That  which  to  little  ones  Thou  wilt  make 

known, 
Keep  Thou  my  heart  untouched  by  human 

pride, 

Make  Thou  Thy  will  my  own  : 
Even  as  a  child  leans  on  its  mother's  breast 
In  sweet,  confiding  love,  contented  there, 
So  let  me  lean,  so  be  my  faith  expressed, 
Unvexed  with  doubt  and  undisturbed  by 

care, 
And  leave  to  Thee  the  rest. 


137 


A  WINTER  THOUGHT. 

OUT  from  the  north  a  driving  wind  and  keen, 
Out  of  the  leaden  clouds  the  drifting  snow ; 

Yet  not  far  off  are  skies  which  are  serene, 
And  balmy  winds  that  soon  will   hither 
blow. 

Naked  and  weird  against  the  wintry  sky 
The  stately  trees  moan  in  the  frosty  air; 

While  deep  within,  enfolded  safe,  there  lie 
The  buds  and  blossoms  they  erelong  shall 
wear. 

Fast  locked  in  ice  the  babbling  brooks  are 

bound, 

And  flowing  rivers  motionless  are  seen ; 
Yet  far  below  the  noiseless  springs  abound 
Which  soon  will  change  the  sere  into  the 
green. 

Under  the  snow,  in  meadow  and  on  wold, 
Dead  lie  the  grasses,  dead  the  flowers  so 
dear; 

Yet  at  their  roots  they  still  the  harvest  hold, 
And  the  rare  sweetness  of  the  vernal  year. 


'38 

Oh,  dreary  earth  that  now  imprisoned  lies ; 
Oh,  bleak,  dense  clouds  which  frost  and 

tempest  bring : 
Upon  this  darkness  quickening  suns  shall 

rise, 
Out  of  this  sleep  a  new  creation  spring  ! 

I  turn  mine  eyes  from  all  that  is  without 
To  that  which  is  unseen  and  close  within : 

Is  't  Winter  there,  with  storms  of  fear  and 

doubt  ? 
Lies  my  heart  cold  and  barren  in  its  sin  ? 

I  make  not  answer  save  to  Him  alone 
Who  the   seed    planted   that   can   never 

die: 

If  now,  O  Lord,  it  lifeless  seem  as  stone, 
Inert,     unquickened,    'neath    a    sunless 
sky,— 

Thou  wilt  unloose  the  bonds  that  hold  it 

fast, 

Thou  wilt  to  slumbering  pulses  quicken 
ing  bring, 

And  out  of  deadness  and  the  stormy  blast 
Unfold  the  life  and  beauty  of  the  Spring ! 


139 


SEWARD. 

I. 

WELL,  be  it  so !    The  not  uncommon  fate 
Of  greatness  overtakes  thee  in  thy  prime : 
He  who  is  mighty  will  have  foes  who  hate ; 
Thou  hast  false  friends,  who  do  but  consum 
mate 

Their  own  destruction  in  attempting  thine. 
O  peerless  champion  of  the  cause  so  just, 
When  some,  o'er-zealous  now,  were  cold  or 

mute, 

Thou  with  sublimest  courage  took  the  trust 
And  priceless  venture,  conscious  that  thou 

must 
Bear  scorn  of  those  who  would  thy  cause 

dispute. 

Keep  heart !  the  great  hereafter  will  refute 
Each  slander  born  of  envy  or  of  hate, 
And  thus  thy  final  labors  will  compute  : 
He  Freedom  saved,  by  saving  first  the  State. 

February,  1862. 


140 


II. 


EIGHT  years  of  service,  such   as  greatest 

kings 

Might  seek,  yet  be  unable  to  perform  : 
Thou  hast  rode  out  from  first  to  last  the 

storm 
That  shook  the  nation.     Now  the  day  that 

brings 

To  all  the  land  the  crowning  act  of  peace 
Takes  off  thy  burden,  gives  thee  glad  release. 
How  through  these  years  in  silence  hast  thou 

borne 

The  cruel  doubt,  the  slanders  of  debate,  — 
The  assassin's  knife,  and  keener  blade  of 

scorn 

Wielded  by  party  in  its  narrow  hate ; 
How  couldst  thou  pause  each  step  to  vindi 
cate 

Of  thy  surpassing  work  ?   Lo  !  it  is  done  : 
Freedom  enshrined  in  our  regenerate  State, 
And  they  who  were  divided  made  as  one ! 

March  4,  1869. 


AN  AUTUMN  REVERIE. 


IN  field  and  wood  the  purple  aster 's  bloom 
ing? 
Where  nodding  plumes  of  golden-rod  are 

seen; 

And  wayside  ferns,  their  autumn  dress  as 
suming, 

Have  put  aside  their  summer  robes  of 
green. 

Cool  are  the  clouds  above  the  regal  moun 
tains, 
Though    tree  and   bush  with   color  are 

aglow, 
And  sluggish  brooks,  changed  into  tumbling 

fountains, 
O'er  rock  and  root  in  rapid  currents  flow. 

From  tree  to  tree  the  thrifty  squirrel 's  leap 
ing, 
Hunting  the  walnut  and  the  winter  store ; 


142 

While  through  the  fields,  amid  the  stubble 

reaping, 
A  myriad  host  of  roaming  insects  pour. 

On  shaded  walks  the  colored  leaf  is  falling, 
The  pasture-lands  are  turning  brown  and 

sere, 
And  from  the  sky  the  chattering   crow  is 

calling, 
And  not  a  bird  of  summer  singeth  here. 

The  summer  days  have  come  and  have  de 
parted, 

The  flush  of  health  is  changing  to  decay  ; 
And  Earth  takes  back  the  life  that  it  im 
parted, 
To  hold  it  for  her  resurrection  day. 


n. 


What  if  gray  clouds  now  take  the  place  of 

golden, 

What  if  all  Nature  suffereth  a  change, 
Still  beauty  fills  the  eyes  that  are  not  holden, 
Where'er  they  lift,   wherever  they  may 
range. 


143 

To  clearer  heights  the  hills  their  peaks  are 

lifting, 

The  valleys  open  to  a  broader  reach  ; 
And   changing  lights  and   shades  are  o'er 

them  drifting, 
Weaving  the  gold  or  purple  robe  of  each. 

The  wind  from  out  the  azure  west  is  steal 
ing, 
The  cool  pure  sky  is  wondrous  deep  and 

fair, 

And  rhythmic  movements  of  poetic  feeling 
Suffuse  the  soul  in  a  delicious  air. 

The  misty  heats  have  left  the  upper  spaces, 
The  missing  stars  brought  back  their  glit 
tering  fires ; 
Night  unto  night,  from  out  the   heavenly 

places, 

Prolongs  the  gladness  which  the  day  in 
spires. 

These  are  the  days  and  nights  of  peaceful 

pleasure,  — 

The  rarest,  not  the  saddest  of  the  year ; 
And  though  their  music  beats  a  minor  meas 
ure, 
No  sweeter  strains  can  fill  a  listening  ear. 


144 


in. 


And  Nature  dying  touches  still  the  living,  — 
The  benediction  of  her  closing  days  ; 

And  fuller  life  and  quickened  hope  is  giving 
To  hands  that  labor  and  to  lips  that 
praise. 

If  the  seed  die  not,  how  shall  it  be  raised  ? 

Out  of  this  death  a  future  life  shall  spring : 
Once   more,   O   Lord,  Thy  holy  name   be 

praised, 

For  the  great  truth  these  hours  of  autumn 
bring. 

I  take  the  lesson  from  the  fading  beauty, 
The  hope  of  life  now  promised  in  decay, 

And  cheerful  turn  to  meet  the  waiting  duty 
With  added  strength  and  courage  for  the 
way. 

No  more  the  lotos  lures  me  into  dreaming, 
No  more  I  idly  on  these  hills  recline ; 

Afar  the  city's  beckoning  lights  are  gleam 
ing, 
And  days  of  rest  can  be  no  longer  mine. 


As  on  my  hearth  the  embers  fast  are  dying  — 
The  leaping  flame  went  out  an  hour  ago  — 

And  in  the  pines  the  rising  winds  are  sigh 
ing, 
A  crowning  blessing,  Lord,  on  me  bestow ! 


10 


146 


CHARLES    HODGE. 

A  PRINCE,  wise,  valiant,  just,  and  yet  benign ; 
His  own  will  free,  and  still  by  law  controlled : 
No  king,  with  armaments  and  fleets  untold, 
Such  mastery  had,  with  purpose  so  divine, 
O'er  unseen  forces,  active  and  malign. 
He  fought  the  invisible  spirits  of  the  air, 
Not  for  himself  alone  but  for  his  race  ; 
And  men  grew  wiser,  better,  unaware 
That  he  in  silence  by  his  faith  and  prayer 
Saved  their  beleaguered  souls.     Spirit  of 

Grace, 
Who  in  him  wrought,  and  held  him  in  the 

strife, 
We  give  Thee  thanks  that  Thou  didst  him 

ordain 

Unto  a  work  wherein  no  act  is  vain, 
And  death  but  larger  makes  the  service  and 

the  life. 


147 


THE   WANING  YEARS. 

AH,  swiftly  fly  my  fast-recurring  years, 
Lessening  the  limits  of  their  final  bound ; 

Measured  by  time,  how  long  the  way  appears, 
How  few  the  days  until  the  end  is  found ! 

And  yet  I  fear  not,  though  the  time  be  brief, 
Nor  pray  my  days  or  years  less  swiftly  go ; 

Nor  ask  that  I  life's  common  cares  and  grief 
Henceforth,  until  the  end,  may  rarely 
know : 

Nay,  rather,  for  a  heart  that  grows  not  old, 
A  soul  that  time  and  sense  shall  cease  to 
bind ; 

That,  day  by  day,  until  my  years  are  told, 
I  more  of  good  in  all  this  life  may  find. 

A  larger  love,  a  broader  ground  of  hope, 
More  faith  in  God,  more   confidence  in 

man; 
Unmoved  by  fear,  though   I   in  darkness 

grope, 
As  knowing  this  is  God's  perfecting  plan. 


148 

Thou,  Lord,  hast  kept  me  from  that  sad  es 
tate 

That  falls  too  oft  on  man's  declining  days; 
Nor  change,   nor    loss,   disturbing   doubts 

create, 

To  dim  my  hopes,  and  still  the  voice  of 
praise. 

Preserved  by  Thee  from  baleful  dreams  and 

fears, 

Grant  still  more  love,  more  hope  for  hu 
man  kind ; 
The  world  grows  better  e'en  in  strifes  and 

tears,  — 
We  but  deny  it  when  our  eyes  are  blind. 

(  Not  now  for  dying  grace  I  cry  to  Thee,  — 
Nay,  grace  to  live,  —  the  strength  to  live 

aright ; 

In  all  I  am,  in  all  I  seek  to  be, 
To  walk  by  faith,  and  not  by  weakening 
sight.  > 


149 


CONSIDER   HIM. 


THAT  Holy  One, 
Who  came  to  earth  for  thee ; 

Oh,  strangest  thing  beneath  the  sun, 

That  He  by  any  mortal  one 
Forgotten  e'er  should  be  ! 

ii. 

The  Son  of  God, 

Who  pity  had  on  thee  ; 
Who  turned  aside  the  smiting  rod, 
And  all  alone  the  garden  trod, 

Forgotten  shall  He  be  ? 

in. 

The  Blessed  Lord, 

Who  came  to  die  for  thee  ; 
Whom  Jew  and  Gentile  then  abhorred, 
While  heavenly  hosts  His  name  adored, 

Forgotten  can  He  be  ? 


'5° 


rv. 

That  Brother,  Friend, 

Who  daily  waits  on  thee ; 
Who  every  want  doth  comprehend 
With  love  divine  that  has  no  end, 

Forgotten  can  he  be  ? 

v. 

Oh,  Patient  One, 
Thou  speakest  thus  to  me  : 
Oh,  strangest  thing  beneath  the  sun, 
That  thou,for  whom  so  much  is  done, 
Shouldst  oft  forgetful  be  / 

VI. 

My  Lord,  I  know 
What  truth  Thou  say'st  to  me  : 
Forgive  my  sin,  on  me  bestow 
Such  grace  as  hence  to  all  will  show 
I  do  consider  Thee ! 


COMMON   TASKS. 

WHEN  shall  I  learn  the  Master  to  obey?  — 

That  service  lies  along  the  daily  road, 
Wherein  the  soul  may  hold  its  upward  way 
Through  all  the  hours  on  wonted  cares 

bestowed. 

Forget  not  now,  my  heart, 
Those  many  days  when,  as  the  Son  of  Man, 
His  blameless  life  on  common  tasks  was 

spent, 

Nor  from  the  world  apart, 
And  held  within  the  all-embracing  plan, 
While   He  about  His  Father's   business 
went. 

By  Joseph's  side  He  uncomplaining  wrought, 

As  other  laborer  might  for  laborer's  wage  ; 
He,  Son  of  God,  no  loftier  service  sought 

Than  such  as  may  the  lowliest  one  engage. 

Rejoice,  O  heart  of  mine  ! 
Break  out  in  song !  —  there  is  no  menial  task, 

No  work  but  promise  has  of  large  reward, 

With  peace  and  hope  divine ; 
Nor  once  forget,  in  all  ye  do  or  ask, 

The  servant  is  not  greater  than  his  Lord  ! 


I 


BIRTHDAY   VERSES. 

NOT  now  along  the  distant  eastern  shore 
The  cool,  deep  shadows  sweep  athwart 

the  dew ; 

Not  now  the  sun  mounts  upward,  as  of  yore, 
Into  a  heaven  of  blue. 

My  sun  has  crossed  the  high  meridian  line, 
Beyond   the   clouds    that    thither    come 

and  go ; 

While  on  the  western  slopes  with  day's  de 
cline 
The  shadows  deeper  grow. 

I  face  the  opening  portals  of  the  west, 

My  eyes  with  radiant  visions  slowly  fill, 
While  lie  the  clouds  in  level  bars  at  rest, 
And  all  the  winds  are  still. 

I  turn  not  hence  with  longings  for  the  morn, 
Nor  grieve  I  for  the  passing  of  the  noon  ; 
Enough  that  every  change  to  me  hath  borne 
God's  blessing  late  or  soon.  I 


Nor  pray  I  that  the  now  descending  sun 
Hasten  his  going,  that  my  day  be  o'er ; 
I  am  content  —  content  God's  will  be  done, 
Be  my  time  less  or  more. 

Nay,  something  deeper,  better  than  content, 

Or  dumb  submission  to  the  will  divine ; 
Thanks  rather  for  the  life  I  here  have  spent, 
The  hopes  forever  mine, 

j     The  endless  gifts,  the  mercies  manifold, 
£_         With  all  that  has  been  and  is  still  to  be  : 
My  God,  my  heart  were  passionless  and  cold, 
Did  I  not  bring  to  Thee 

The  measure  of  its  depths  and  overflow ; 
Did  not  a  joyful  song  to  Thee  ascend, 
For  all  that  I  have  known,  am  yet  to  know, 
Until  my  day  shall  end, 

Of  that  full  love  which  all  my  way  enfolds, 
Still  keeps  me  close  within  its  sovereign 

care, 

And  grants  whate'er  I  need,  and  yet  with 
holds 
That  which  I  could  not  bear. 


154 


I    KNOW. 

AT  yonder  turn  in  tangled  woods, 
The  mountain  brook  is  lost  to  me ; 

And  yet  I  know  it  still  flows  on 
And  downward  to  the  sea. 

From  out  the  nest  the  robin  sweeps, 
With  song,  into  the  wastes  of  air ; 

And  yet  I  know  he  will  return, 
For  still  his  nest  is  there. 

The  thoughts  I  have  of  one  I  love 
Go  hence,  and  so  are  lost  to  me ; 

And  yet  I  know  they  pass  to  him 
Who  dwells  beyond  the  sea. 

How  wind  the  waters  to  the  sea, 
How  finds  the  bird  again  its  nest, 

Or  thought  o'erleaps  the  continents 
Upon  love's  high  behest,  — 

I  cannot  see,  I  cannot  tell, 
And  yet  no  doubt  is  mine  : 

Is  not  belief  as  strong  as  sight, 
And  faith  more  sure  than  sign  ? 


'55 


As  some  deep  spring  on  a  sequestered  height 
Rolls  limpid  out,  and  broadens  as  it  flows, 
And  generous  gifts  increasingly  bestows, 
Hiding  itself  beyond  the  common  sight 
E'en  while  it  blesses,  or  imparts  delight ; 
So  he,  our  Blameless  Prince,  on  earth  no 

more, 

Sent  out  his  benefactions  far  and  wide: 
His  silent  gifts,  repeated  o'er  and  o'er, 
Became  a  flowing,  an  abundant  tide. 
O  city  of  his  birth  and  noble  pride, 
How  well  he  loved  thee  let  his  deeds  attest : 
A  shadow  fell  upon  thee  when  he  died, 
And  heart  to  heart  instinctively  confessed 
That  God  had  taken  from  us  of  His  best. 


'56 


"THE   NIGHT  SWEPT   COOL   O'ER 
BETHLEHEM'S   PLAIN." 

THE  night  swept  cool  o'er  Bethlehem's  plain, 

And  folded  close  the  distant  hill ; 
Alone  the  weary  shepherds  watched, 

While  all  their  drowsy  flocks  were  still ; 
Above,  the  silent  stars  moved  on 

Each  in  its  own  majestic  way : 
Who  dreamed  the  Son  of  Man  had  come, 

And  in  a  Bethlehem  manger  lay? 

No  wondrous  sign  had  filled  the  sky, 

When  sank  the  flaming  sun  afar ; 
No  ominous  cloud  with  darkness  came, 

To  pale  or  hide  the  Eastern  star; 
No  tumult  filled  the  town  or  inn, 

Where  travellers  tarried  on  their  way 
Unconscious  that  the  Son  of  God 

So  near  them  in  a  manger  lay. 

Along  the  surging  streets  of  Rome, 
Through  all  the  Empire  of  the  West, 

Nor  sign  nor  sound  the  hour  made  known, 
In  which  all  nations  should  be  blest : 


That  night  imperial  Caesar  slept 
On  regal  couch  his  cares  away, 

And  dreamed  not  that  the  King  of  kings 
At  Bethlehem  in  a  manger  lay. 

Only  where  simple  shepherds  watched, 

In  fields  which  Ruth  of  old  did  glean, 
Was  the  rapt  song  of  angels  heard, 

The  sudden  mystic  glory  seen ; 
And  when  the  heavenly  song  had  ceased, 

The  heavenly  light  had  passed  away, 
The  shepherds  entered  Bethlehem, 

And  found  the  place  where  Jesus  lay. 

No  marvel  that  they  spread  abroad 

The  saying  that  to  them  was  told  — 
"  Lo,  He  has  come  !  "  —  the  Christ  of  God, 

The  Saviour  promised  them  of  old ; 
No  marvel  that  with  prayer  and  praise 

Back  to  their  flocks  they  took  their  way  ; 
The  Shepherd  of  their  souls  had  come, — 

At  Bethlehem  in  a  manger  lay ! 


'58 


'I    MOURN   NOT   NOW   THE    DYING 
YEAR." 

I  MOURN  not  now  the  dying  year, 

I  call  not  back  the  vanished  past ; 
No  vain  regrets  shall  vex  me  here, 

Nor  doubts  perplex  to  hold  me  fast 
Enough  that  from  myself  I  turn, 

Still  conscious  of  my  sin  and  wrong,  — 
That  thoughts  of  love  within  me  burn, 

And  move  my  heart  to  song. 

O  Love  divine,  Love  manifest, 

In  the  vast  world  that  round  me  lies  ; 
That,  knowing  what  for  each  is  best, 

In  wisdom  grants,  or  else  denies  ; 
O'er  sun  and  stars,  o'er  land  and  sea, 

Rules  undisturbed  with  ceaseless  care, 
Yet  condescends  to  compass  me, 

And  with  my  weakness  bear. 

The  hurrying  years  may  come  and  go, 
My  heart  with  joy  or  sorrow  fill ; 

Yet  evermore  't  is  mine  to  know 
That  I  am  close  environed  still ; 


»59 

Forgotten  not,  though  I  forget ; 

Still  guarded,  though  I  wayward  be  ;  — 
Dear  Lord,  this  is  Thy  love,  and  yet 

How  poor  is  mine  for  Thee  ! 

No  king  whom  armies  close  surround 

Sits  on  his  throne  as  firm  and  sure ; 
No  State  with  power  and  blessings  crowned 

Can  hold  its  subjects  so  secure. 
Oh,  sweet  persuasion,  that  to-night 

Assures  what  is,  and  is  to  be,  — 
That  life,  nor  death,  nor  depth,  nor  height, 

Can  take  my  Lord  from  me. 

Oh,  rest  of  Faith,  —  the  gift  of  Love,  — 

That  dies  not  with  the  dying  years ; 
How  brighten  now  the  heavens  above, 

How  fair  this  lower  world  appears  ! 
No  marvel  that  from  self  I  turn, 

Though  conscious  of  my  sin  and  wrong ; 
That  thoughts  of  love  within  me  burn, 

And  move  my  heart  to  song. 


i6o 


UNDECIDED. 

I  AM  so  weary,  Lord, 

Weary  and  cold ; 
Strong  are  the  winds  and  keen 

Without  the  fold : 
I  in  the  darkness  hear 

Thy  voice  of  old  ; 
And  yet  I  wait,  I  wait, 

And  cold,  so  cold. 

What  aileth  me,  dear  Lord, 

That  thus  I  wait  ? 
I  see  the  sheltering  walls, 

The  open  gate, 
And  loving  arms  outspread 

Me  to  enfold  ; 
And  yet  I  linger,  Lord, 

So  cold,  so  cold. 

How  long,  dear  Lord,  how  long  ? 

I  falter  still : 
My  weak,  my  faithless  heart 

Unnerves  my  will. 


I  would  not,  and  I  would 

Enter  the  fold ; 
And  yet  I  stand  without, 

So  cold,  so  cold. 

Wilt  Thou  forget  me,  Lord  ? 

Thy  help  withhold  ? 
I  die  if  Thou  come  not 

E'en  by  the  fold  : 
Come  with  Thy  quickening  strength, 

Come  as  of  old  ! 
I  am  so  weary,  Lord, 

And  cold,  so  cold. 


162 


SEA-FOG. 

THE  sun  went  down  behind  the  clouds 

That  hugged  the  round  horizon's  rim ; 
And  soon  we  saw  the  fitful  stars 

In  drifting  waves  of  vapor  swim. 
As  o'er  the  unresisting  sea 

The  good  ship  held  her  onward  way, 
Some  said,  "  Thank  God  that  such  a  night 

Has  crowned  what  was  a  perfect  day." 

And  one  by  one  we  went  below 

To  take  our  rest  in  quiet  sleep  ; 
We  knew  the  watch  we  left  above 

Would  faithful  guard  and  vigil  keep : 
We  slept  to  wake  far  in  the  night 

A  dull  disturbing  sound  to  hear,  — 
The  oft  repeated  whistle-blow 

That  brings  unrest  and  boding  fear. 

We  felt  the  engine's  constant  throb, 
We  heard  the  screw  in  ceaseless  play, 

Yet  knew  not  where,  or  near  or  far, 
Some  sudden,  hidden  danger  lay ; 


And  still  our  forward  course  we  held 
While  still  the  warning  signal  blew : 

Ah  !  steadfast  hands  were  on  the  wheel, 
And  well  his  way  the  captain  knew. 

The  morning  broke,  and  still  the  fog 

In  drifting  folds  o'erhung  our  sight ; 
While  each  said,  "  Would  that  lifting  winds 

Might  bring  to  us  a  broadening  light !  " 
At  last  the  misty  veil  was  drawn, 

The  clear  expanse  around  us  lay, 
And  timid  ones  took  heart  again, 

When  once  they  saw  an  open  way. 

So  falls  unrest  upon  the  heart 

When  sudden  clouds  obscure  our  skies, 
And  God  seems  hidden  in  the  doubts 

From  out  of  which  our  fears  arise ; 
Yet  ever  on  life's  changing  sea, 

Though  mists  arise  or  tempest  blows, 
A  guiding  Hand  is  on  the  wheel, 

And  all  the  way  our  Captain  knows. 


164 


IN    ABSENCE. 

DEAR  one,  between  us  lies  the  vexing  sea, 
And  weary  leagues  of  mountain  and  of  plain : 
Though  o'er  the  lengthening  space  I  mas 
tery  gain 
To  backward  send  my  constant  thought  of 

thee, 
Would  that  thy  voice  might  answer  make 

to  me, 

As  here  I  see  the  happy  lovers  go 
Through  fragrant   meadows   to  their  calm 

retreats, 
While  the  old  tale  they  tell,  which  well  I 

know, 

My  voice  instinctive  unto  thee  repeats. 
And  yet,  beloved,  though  we  dwell  apart, 
Our  voices  hushed  e'en  to  the  listening  ear, 
How  oft  they  mingle  in  yon  upper  sphere, 
Asking  for   each  —  heart  answering    unto 

heart  — 
God's  greater  love,  and  knowing  He  will 

hear! 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 

Page 

HOPEFULLY  WAITING u 

BRIDGES 14 

RICH,  THOUGH  POOR 17 

To 20 

EARTH  TO  EARTH 21 

LITTLE  BESSIE 23 

THE  CANARY-BIRD 26 

FAR  OFF,  YET  NEAR 27 

BY  FAITH  AND  PATIENCE 29 

To  F 30 

SONG 31 

SABBATH  MORNING 32 

HAPPIEST  DAYS 34 

THE  NEW  GIFT 36 

Loss  AND  GAIN 37 

GOOD-NIGHT 38 

THE  MASTER'S  INVITATION 39 

MARGARET  BROWN 41 

LESS  AND  MORE 45 

FAIRY  TALES 47 

THE  COLOR-SERGEANT 51 


i66 

Page 
"  THE    MARRIAGE   STATE    IS    A    STATE    OF 

SORROW" 55 

To  F.  F.  R 58 

LITTLE  LUCY  AND  THE  SONG  SHE  SUNG  .    .  60 

THE  ABSENT  LORD 63 

HYMN  FOR  THE  DEDICATION  OF  A  CHURCH  65 

SOJOURNING,  AS  AT  AN  INN 66 

OUR  BABY 69 

THE  WILD  FLOWER 71 

SONG 72 

THE  LOVING  MASTER 73 

THE  HAPPY  PILGRIM 74 

A  HOUSEHOLD  LAMENTATION 76 

A  SUNBEAM  AND  A  SHADOW 78 

MASTER,  is  IT  I  ? 79 

TRUST  ABSOLUTE So 

LONGINGS 83 

"  THAT  PASSETH  UNDERSTANDING  "  ....  85 


PART   II. 

MY  SHIPS 91 

THE  SUMMER  DROUGHT 93 

THE  FRIEND  WHO  WAITS 95 

A  VISION  OF  REST 97 

CHRIST  THE  THEME  OF  SONG  IN  ALL  AGES.  100 
WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 105 


i67 

Page 

AN  AUTUMN  BURIAL 107 

A  SUNDAY  THOUGHT  no 

FOR  MY  SAKE 112 

I.  N.  B U4 

ABIDING  WITH  GOD 115 

A  CAMP-FIRE  STORY 117 

UNTO  THE  DESIRED  HAVEN    ..'....  126 

THE  SILENT  HELPER 128 

OUTWARD  BOUND 132 

THOMAS  HARVEY  SKINNER 134 

THE  REST  OF  FAITH 135 

A  WINTER  THOUGHT 137 

SEWARD 139 

AN  AUTUMN  REVERIE 141 

CHARLES  HODGE 146 

THE  WANING  YEARS 147 

CONSIDER  HIM 149 

COMMON  TASKS 151 

BIRTHDAY  VERSES 152 

I  KNOW 154 

J-  L i55 

"THE  NIGHT  SWEPT  COOL  O'ER  BETHLEHEM'S 

PLAIN" 156 

"I  MOURN  NOT  NOW  THE  DYING  YEAR"     .  158 

UNDECIDED 160 

SEA-FOG 162 

IN  ABSENCE 164 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below 


3m-8,'49(B5572)47 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  (  YL-FORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A     000120506    1 


PS 
2675 


